73 Days of Summer
by HeyLookTheSnitch
Summary: I gaped at him in awe and terror. In one simple act of pure stupidity, James Potter had somehow weaseled his unwelcome buttocks into my life...as my summer date. Blast it all. Summer of love? Ha. Too bad. It's no longer 1967, Potter.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _If only I had as brilliant of a creative mind as JK Rowling...well, it probably wouldn't be so difficult for me to update or follow through with one story..._

**A/N: **_Well, this is slightly embarrassing, considering this is my third attempt at a story within a time period of about four months (see my profile for more information on Encoded Charm and Solar Powered). Please, try not to judge me. :) Okay, I'm going to take some time to defend my decision to start this story and actually finish it (and, yes, you all can hold me to that promise, because I WILL finish this one if it's the last thing I do!). First of all, this story is going to take place in Lily and James's summer after their sixth year. And I love summer. Not to mention that I'm in summer mode right now, so this story is all up in my alley. It's lighthearted, happy, and, well to be clichéd, sunny. Also, I relate to the Lily in this story a lot, so it's fun for me to write her, because it's sort of like personal therapy sessions or something...and I can not believe I just said that. Hehe. Aw, well. You're my readers, so I might as well be honest with you all. And for all of you who are brand new to my random ramblings, I'm really not insane. I swear. Cross my heart, hope (not) to die. _

_So, here in America, it's still June 21st, which is actually the FIRST OFFICIAL DAY OF SUMMER! And, the weather here just started getting nice, so it's a sign for the promise of this story and my wonderful pool weather. :) Sorry to all of you who aren't in America or on pacific coast time, because your first day of summer has probably already passed without you even realizing it. But never fear, this chapter will bring that glorious day and the feeling associated with it back. Or, at least I hope it does. And, I just had to publish this story on this date...you'll see why once you've finished this chapter. _

_As usual, feel free to scroll down and enjoy yourself in this new story of mine. I'm really excited guys (and I know I've said that in the past), but this time it's different, because I'm going back to my roots. Good old Lily and James, when things between them were still confusing, yet light and flirtatious. Ah, I'm so excited to write this. Just thinking about all of my ideas...AH! So stocked. _

_I hope you enjoy it! _

* * *

**Chapter 1: If I had a Galleon for Every Time I Said Something Stupid…**

_You wear your smile like a summer sky__  
__Just shining down on me and you__  
__I swear your heart is a free bird__  
__On a lazy Sunday afternoon_

_I love the way that you were up for anything__  
__Never worried 'bout what people say__  
__That's right, oh that's right__  
__What we got is_

_Just like driving on an open highway__  
__Never knowing what we're gonna find__  
__Just like two kids, baby, always trying to live it up__  
__Whoa, yeah, that's our kind of love  
_-Our Kind of Love, Lady Antebellum

* * *

What a glorious day. I pranced down the front entrance of the most beautiful, wonderful school in either the Muggle or magical world, kicking off my sandals without abandon as I reached the last step. They flew a little farther than was necessary, but that was just fine. My toes gingerly pressed upon the tickling springy grass, reveling in its sweetness, its comfort. I'd always felt as if grass had its own distinct scent—something like lawn mowers and swimming pools. As I bent down to retrieve my shoes, the sun shone down onto my back, the warmth of it sending tingles up my spine into my hairline, thawing out every inch of me.

June 21st. The first official day of summer.

And it wasn't as if the weather were any better today than it had been on the twentieth—well, it _had_ hailed for ten minutes yesterday, but this _was_ Scotland. Unplanned rain showers were more than expected, they were planned for, but still…the first _official_ day.

There was just something about summer. It wasn't only the fact that summer happened to be the season of a much deserved break from examinations and papers. In fact, I still had a few weeks until all of the stress of memorization of potion ingredients and practicing of wand movements were behind me. No, it wasn't just the no-schoolwork clause that had me smiling so much. Ever since I'd been little, I'd always adored summers. The sun and the warmth it exuded…it was almost as if it had its own distinctive smell of golden apples and lemonade. It made me feel secure, as if nothing could touch me under the protection of the sun's fingers. As if everything was right with the world. Or rather, as if the world wanted to make everything right. Fighting the darkness with one flower petal and swimming costume at a time.

I tossed my book bag onto the earth near the lake, placing myself beside it so that I was out of the shade, closing my eyes against the brightness and wiggling my toes. At home, I had my own hammock in our family garden to do my summer homework. But here, at Hogwarts, I had marked my studying space in a rather grassier part of the grounds—a part where it seemed a lawn mower had never trespassed—near the lake where I had easy access to the water's edge. The flow of the current and the sloshing noise of the water as it splashed up against the shore put me in a hazy daze.

"Studying much?"

From my current vantage point of lying flat on the ground on my back, the girl's face was masked in a shadow, obscured by the sun that was hidden behind her head. Her long, black hair fell towards me as she leaned over. I groaned at her for blocking my rays. "Sit down, Chadna. Enjoy yourself," I invited my friend, shutting my eyes again.

She laughed. "Summer syndrome," she commented as she plopped down beside me.

"I'll study tomorrow," I complained. "Today's the first day of summer; I'll never get it back again."

"Until next year," she retorted.

I sat up onto my elbows, smirking at my dark-skinned friend. "It's not summer's fault that you have flocks of boys waiting for you in London."

She pulled up a handful of grass from its roots and threw it at me. "Arranged marriage is _so_ not me." And her point was aptly made. Tradition was not something that fit well with my best friend. In fact, everything about her screamed that she was determined to be her own person. I looked at her gold nose ring, her loose, flowing top that she'd made out of her red bed hangings, and her shorts that weren't booty-pants by any means but short enough to send her mum into a heart attack, not to mention the Firewhiskey bottle tops she'd replaced the buttons with …Chadna was simply that. Herself. Which clashed with her home life.

Chadna's parents had moved to England from India after their marriage nearly twenty years ago. While her father had studied at the Wizarding school there, her mum was a very traditionalist Muggle who wanted her daughter to have the best of both worlds; English witch and Indian woman. Her mother was fighting for Chadna to agree to an arranged marriage, something that Chadna found ridiculous seeing as her mother hadn't had one; it had become a two year argument that her dad had tried to stay out of. Unfortunately, Chadna wanted little to do with the Muggle university graduates who were on their way to becoming doctors or lawyers, men who her mother deemed as worthy.

An awful glint appeared in her brown eyes then as she said, "I wonder what my mum would do if I brought home Sirius Black."

"Probably beat you over the head with a Buddha."

She rolled her eyes dramatically at me. "She's Hindu, Lily."

"Fine. Hit you with karma then."

Chadna laughed shortly, before resorting back to her pout. I hated people who could still look cute while scowling…I simply looked like an enraged hippogriff, or rather like a hippogriff had gotten a hold of my face. Her gaze drifted to the other side of the lake. "I hate summers."

"Well," I began, "you know what they say?" I made a large hand gesture in the air that formed the shape of a very misshapen heart. "Summer's the season of love."

"Speaking of love," she began before nodding off to where she'd been staring a few seconds earlier. I followed her line of sight and automatically frowned. For on the other side of the lake, a group of boys were rolling and ducking as if they were having a play-duel, their laughter and shouts carrying over to us. One of the boys, the one with incredibly messy hair on a head so big that I was surprised his neck could support its weight, seemed to have sensed our presence. His face turned right towards mine, and he waved enthusiastically before his friend jumped him from behind.

I quickly looked down and away. "And there goes my perfect day," I muttered. "Do you think I should go over there and bust them for using magic outside of the school?" I fingered my Prefect's badge thoughtfully.

"Only if you want to give James a chance to ask you out," Chadna responded.

I bit my lip and then smiled. "At least they're not hurting anyone."

"Other than themselves," Chadna continued as James Potter hoisted Sirius Black up into the air by his ankle with a flick of his wrist...not that I could see their antics that closely from this far away, but I could see the wand protruding from Potter's hand. For some reason, that little charm had become extremely popular among the students at Hogwarts. I was almost positive its popularity had been bolstered by Potter's and Black's use of it, to be honest. Not that I approved…most of the time. Some of the time, the two best mates actually could be amusing. When they weren't humiliating some poor innocent first year, that is.

I pulled my bag towards me, slipping out my Transfiguration textbook, the one class that seemed to be written in Goblin language-to me anyways-and the exam that I would have first come July 2nd. "They haven't been so bad this year," I mumbled distractedly, trying to drown out the boys' shouts so that I could concentrate. "All things considered."

She was still watching the group of friends, a faint smile on her face. "By all things considered," she started, "do you mean their never ceasing abuse of Severus Snape or James's constantly hopeless Hogsmeade proposals?"

Wrinkling my nose in distaste, I responded, "Both."

"Well," Chadna stated, "at least you don't have to worry about your mum arranging your nuptials with James."

"Back to that, are we?" I joked lightly.

Without any warning whatsoever—and some sort of S.O.S notice would have been helpful—a voice came up from behind me, causing us both to jump and sending my textbook from my lap onto a one-way crash course with my toe rather painfully. "Been talking about marrying me, Evans?"

For the moment, I ignored my throbbing big toe. Where in the name of Dumbledore's left sock had he come from? As I turned around to throw him a rather witty insult, I got my answer. He was straddling his precious broomstick, hovering six inches off of the ground. Prat. "Only in my nightmares, Potter," I shot back.

"I knew you thought about me," he said as he hopped off of his broom gracefully, planting both of his feet on the ground shoulder width a part. A stance of control, power; I swear, his Quidditch captaincy had really gone to his head this term. His hand automatically flew to his hair, mussing it up even more than the breeze had. He had an annoying habit of doing that when near me; it was annoying because it actually made his hair look inviting, all fluffed up and casual, like he didn't have a care in the world…Of course, I would never tell _him_ that.

"Yes. Congratulations, Potter. My thoughts have come up with multiple murder possibilities. In fact, you're at the top of my hit list."

The way his hazel eyes sparkled caused me to immediately regret the words that had just come out of my mouth. Trust James Potter to turn the worst of insults into some form of a compliment. It was like rude words simply bounced off of his thick skull. "You're welcome to hit on me whenever you like, Evans." He threw his arms open wide and winked roguishly. Chadna stifled her laugh into a cough.

I glared. "Can I use your Beater bat?"

He smirked wider. "Using Quidditch terminology now?"

It was a good thing that it took a lot to make me blush. Git. Pervy git. I really had to learn to think before I opened my mouth, especially when it came to dealing with boy-wonder Potter. His hormonal brain could flip anything I said. _Boys. _I pushed my red curls out of my face and over my shoulder agitatedly. "You're such a prick," I told him, playing it safe and resorting to good old name calling.

Make of that what you will, Potter.

Chadna sighed incredibly loudly, throwing us both a look that clearly said that she didn't approve of being ignored.

Potter seemed to catch Chadna's disapproval as well, and his amused chuckles continued as he sat down cross legged beside me, his broomstick on his other side. "Hullo, Chadna," he greeted, throwing a wink in her direction, his smile easy. "What are you beautiful ladies up to?" he asked, looking between the two of us.

Psh. He thought he was _so_ charming.

"Actually," Chadna answered, "I was just about to head inside—" She turned to me—"to send an owl back to my parents."

As quick as a cobra ready to reel in some unsuspecting baby mouse, I clapped her on the shoulder, gripping it with a hold worthy of Gryffindor's Seeker on the Snitch. "Chad—" I shook her slightly—"I'm sure you can do that later." I gave her that pointed look, the look that clearly told her that under no circumstances should she leave me with Quidditch boy unless she wanted to suffer my wrath later.

She patted my hand. To be honest, my wrath couldn't even compare to that of a bumblebee's. No wonder she never took me seriously. "If I want to remain unwed for another few years, this letter really can't wait." With a nod to Potter, she shifted her shoulder out from underneath my grasp. "Be careful with her, James."

"Don't worry, we'll have a baby by the time you get back."

"Hands to yourself, Potter," I immediately countered.

"Last time I checked, hands weren't a necessary participant." I shoved him away in disgust as he grinned eerily. "Hands to yourself, Evans," he mocked me. Instantly, I gripped them into fists in my lap to keep them away from my wand.

Too late it seemed, I turned my attention back to my friend. She never did like being the odd third person—she would usually just leave so that she wouldn't have to put herself through it. In horror, I watched her get up. She met my accusatory glare with a shrug. "What?" she defended herself, "when you two get going at it, I feel like a third wheel on an awkward outing with my parents on their anniversary at a fancy Indian Cuisine buffet."

"We'll double sometime," Potter said joyfully, his smirk a little too pronounced as he glanced at me, "I'm sure Sirius would love it." I threw his arm off of me as soon as it had touched my shoulders.

"Please," I begged her, eyes wide.

"I'll come back as soon as my letter is sent to make sure neither one of you is on the Giant Squid's dinner menu." She waved before turning her back on us, a hideous grin across her lips. "Play nicely."

My arms crossed across my chest defensively, habitually coiling away from his presence, drawing my legs to my side and placing my bum on top of my feet. I placed my weight onto my left hand, leaning away from him. He just grinned innocently. I had half a mind to follow Chadna back into the castle, but it was such a nice day, and I still had two hours of daylight left. It would be such a waste. My love for summer beat out my dislike for Potter's antics. Instead of tolerating his presence, however, I decided to ignore it as I pulled my Transfiguration book back towards me.

It was silent for one special moment, though it was made all the more uncomfortable by the holes Potter's gaze seemed to be drilling into my body. Sighing, I flipped the page.

"I could help with that, you know," he finally said.

"You're right," I agreed, "You transfigure yourself into the world's largest prat quite frequently. If that's not talent, I don't know what is."

"I can also turn Sirius into a chauvinistic pig, but I'm not one for bragging."

His response actually pulled a short bout of laughter out of me. Encouraged, he ruffled his hair some more. I averted my stare back to my book. It would be stupid to deny Potter's blasted good looks. He was rather handsome, though not classically so. His boyish grin, rather thin frame, and the black rimmed glasses that adorned his long nose gave him more of an adorable look. After all, he played Quidditch; he wasn't a heavyweight champion.

So, yes, he was attractive. James Potter was the height of cool. Even he knew it. Which was the part that _wasn't_ attractive. Our personalities were complete opposites, which I supposed was what enabled us to shoot insults and comebacks at each other like two people who'd been cursed with a babbling charm.

I felt him staring at me again, and I tugged at the ends of my hair distractedly. My eyes roamed over the words on the page without really taking them in. Curse him. If I failed my Transfiguration exam I would have no one but him to blame.

"Hey, Evans," he said after a while. "Question for you."

I often wondered why I even bothered answering him. "What is it, Potter?"

"How about dinner tonight?"

Inwardly, I sighed. "When pigs fly."

It was as if I could picture his smirk just by the tone of his voice. "Technically speaking, one little Transfiguration charm could turn your wish into my demand."

Bullocks. I hated when Muggle sayings didn't hold up to magical standards. And I wouldn't inflame his ever swelling ego by telling him how impressive it would be if he could transfigure a pig into some sort of winged animal. And, blimey, how did he always do that? It was as if he spent his nights thinking up of clever sayings that could counteract any possible thing I could ever say to him.

"But you're right," he continued, without giving me a chance to redeem myself, "dinner is far to clichéd for our first date."

Giving up, I shut my book. To hell with it. The sun would be just as good tomorrow. Hopefully. After all, this was Scottish weather I was placing my hope upon. "I dunno what you know about dating, Potter, but typically the other person involved has to agree to a date before there is a first."

"You haven't declined it though."

I grinned shortly, standing up. "Sorry for the miscommunication, then. This is me, politely declining." I scooped up my bag into my arms and began to walk away.

His large, calloused hand closed around my upper arm. "Alright, I've got it," he announced, falling into step beside me and casually ignoring my not so subtle 'no'. "Our first date—we'll go on a picnic; you like the outdoors."

I was slightly surprised by how he knew that about me. Although, come to think of it, we _had_ lived in the same confinements for nearly six whole years. After all, I knew that he hated chicken noodle soup, so I supposed we were even. "And a picnic isn't as clichéd as a dinner?"

"Not when it's a picnic on brooms."

I eyed his Cleansweep wearily. "And have you showoff by performing flips and dives, and we end up losing our lunch to the ground?"

He looked at me for a moment, his forehead scrunched together in thought. "That did make my idea lose its romantic edge."

No kidding.

"A study date, then," he continued. "I'll help you with McGonagall's class."

Did he never give up? He was too persistent for his own good. "I've already had plenty of first dates with my textbooks, Potter."

He ran in front of me, stopping my feet in their tracks. The brightness in his eyes made me aware that he had turned the true meaning of whatever I had said upside down once again. "So, you're looking for something more." His eyebrows rose up his forehead suggestively, his teeth gleaming against his red lips as they turned upwards.

My patience was really starting to wane, which was dangerous because patience had never been a strong point of mine. Well, I should say that my patience was really only low when I felt like other people were getting the better of me. Call it pride. Call it stubbornness. Whichever. But when it was gone, it exploded, and I usually ended up saying or doing something I'd regret later. Run-ins with my sister had proved that enough times.

"I'll let you know when I see him," I responded, pushing past him.

"Will you see him over the summer?"

I groaned. "I dunno, Potter."

"Well, you are now." He held his arms out, as if it would be a delicious treat if I were to accept him with whipped cream and all. "A Muggle date. You can show me how it's done."

His voice was starting to pound against my temple. It was the whole flirtatious 'I'm-going-to-talk-big-so-people-think-I'm-big' tone that really riled me up. Because, really, I knew for a fact that he hadn't been on more than three dates during our six years at Hogwarts. And only one of them had moved on to a second date. He just talked as if he was such a ladies man to up his cool. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter."

There was an intake of breath as he pointed to himself. "Me? That was completely innocent on _my_ part," he retorted, lying on the whole innocent façade so thickly that I'm sure bubotber pus would have looked to have the consistency of water next to it.

"Innocent my arse," I muttered. He just grinned.

"So, what do you say, Evans? Let me visit you this summer."

I just couldn't take it anymore. I snapped. He just kept pushing and shoving and poking his way into my delicate brain, testing my will power, breaking down my endurance. And in an act of pure insanity on my part, I agreed to his nonstop proposals for the first time in Evans-Potter history. I also blamed it on the fact that the mere mention of summer seemed to even make the most hideous of prospects appear somewhat endearing. And I found myself nodding. Maybe Chadna would ship me off to St. Mungo's later. I deserved it.

So, I threw up my arms as my voice snapped, "Fine, Potter." I really hated it when my mouth worked too fast for my more rational brain to catch up with it. My mother had always said that my spontaneity would be my downfall.

Thanks, Mum.

He paused shortly, and in that split second, my brain jumped into rewind mode, replaying everything that had just happened. For a second, I froze. What had he done to me? Well, that answer was easy. He'd done what he'd always been able to do. His talent of pushing the right buttons to send me into moments of insanity was uncanny. My head was spinning; I felt drunk. I swallowed. He wouldn't…he _couldn't_…

Wait. He couldn't. He really couldn't. It wasn't as if he even knew what town I lived in, let alone which house number.

"Honestly?" He asked incredulously. Yep. That's right, Potter. It _was_ too good to be true, wasn't it?

I tried to fix my sudden lapse of judgment. Make known that I hadn't willingly given in for no reason at all. As if he hadn't been the one to force the answer out of me. "If it will get you to shut up."

Suddenly, his hand was in front of my face, palm up, waiting for a handshake. "Deal."

I backtracked. "That means no more date propositions for the rest of the year," I clarified, eyes narrowed.

"Done."

I felt slightly sick as I looked into his shining yet determined face. Perhaps I'd just given him a bit too much hope to fuel his ever consistent ego. And hope was like water to him. It gave him strength. It wasn't as if I would actually allow him to come to my house. That would consist of me handing him my address which slightly frightened me. I could easily wake up in the morning and see that he had turned my house inside out; after all, we were allowed to use magic this summer, as we were both seventeen now. Not to mention that he had a habit of creating a ruckus wherever he went, whether it be a classroom, detention, or the seventh floor staircase. As Prefect, I'd had to clean up after him and his friends enough times…granted, the solution was simply a cleaning charm, but still, the intention was there.

Yeah, definitely a bad idea. Besides, I felt like he stalked me enough at school.

And yet, if there was one thing I knew about Potter it was that he was competitive. He would never forget this, especially since, for some reason, this seemed rather important to him. I really wasn't that special, or interesting for that matter.

"So," Potter broke the silence again, "aren't you going to tell me where you live?" As I glanced at him, it became obvious that he didn't actually expect me to _give _him the answer. His tone was sarcastically mocking, his mouth turned upwards into a half smirk, as if he were challenging me to stop this…game? The most obnoxious part was that he knew I wouldn't let him get the best of me.

Suddenly, everything was very clear. I was an idiot, and there was nothing I could do to undo this. Because putting a stop to this now would only make Potter feel as if he'd won. Winner by forfeit. Besides, how was James Potter going to figure out where I lived? It wasn't as if Hogwarts had a directory book. I'd never signed up for the Ministry's white pages. I chuckled at the thought. I began to feel better about this; I mean, what were the odds? Surely, he'd find something better to do with his summer, like blowing up trees with his wand. I turned to stare at him from the corner of my eye.

"That's for me to know, and you—I pray to Godric—to never find out."

He stared back, his hazel eyes hard with resolve. "The challenge is on, Evans."

Oh, Godric. The glint in his eyes shone gold and bright.

What had I just done?

I'd officially just set him the challenge of figuring out my address. Where there was a will, there was a way...Merlin, I really hoped that Potter didn't have a will.

My moronic mouth had done it again. Really, it amazed me how I could muck up the simplest of things. And summer was supposed to be pure, untouched.

James Potter was a schmuck.

So, what else could I do? I looked him square in the eye, fighting the hope there with my own unbeatable determination to win this match. I grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly. "May the best Witch win, Potter."

* * *

_Yay. Chapter 1! I hope you all had an amazing first official day of summer, even if you didn't have your own personal James Potter asking you out. As for this story, I'm going to attempt to post a new chapter every Monday, or every other Monday, depending on how long the chapters turn out to be. Why Mondays, you ask? Well, I work all day Monday through Fridays and writing over the weekends helps relax me. Thus, I should have the following chapter finished on Mondays, and I'll post them when I get home from work. Probably around the same time as this one (8pm PCT). And, besides, the prospect of a new chapter will make my Monday's just that much better...and hopefully your's as well. _

_But, please, let me know what you think of this story. Leave a review, a nice little message, or maybe a not-so-nice message depending on whether or not this chapter was your cup of tea. I just really like to hear from you guys. :)_

_Chapter 2 has already been written, so hopefully I'll talk to you all next Monday. Until then, write me a message, have a great week, and make sure to always me on the lookout for your James Potter or Lily Evans!_

_Crazily yours,_

_-HeyLookTheSnitch_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _Status remains the same. _

**A/N:** _Oh, yay! Thank you so much everyone for reviewing, adding me to your alerts, or favoriting this story. :) It makes me happy! So, thank you for making my week a little bit brighter! _

_And, hey, look at this. I'm actually updating when I said I would. Darn, I'm proud of this moment. Hopefully, this will continue to happen! As for this chapter, it's extremely long (well, for my standards anyways), and I'm not quite sure if I like how it turned out or not...hopefully, you guys like it, otherwise...well, I guess I'll find out by how the reviews sound. _

_And, this may be extremely random, but I've been re-reading Deathly Hallows because, I'm already too excited about the movie for my own good, and I still have months to wait. Ahem. Anyways, I came across this hilarious quote that actually made me laugh hysterically out loud (worrying my brothers) that I hadn't really appreciated before. So, for your enjoyment as well as mine, here it is. It takes place in chapter 2, when Harry has just read the article about Rita Skeeter's biography on Dumbledore:_

_ "Lies!" Harry bellowed, and through the window he saw the next-door neighbor, who had paused to restart his lawn mower, look up nervously. _

_Bwahahahaha! Can you imagine this in your head? Harry screaming LIES! and some old dude jumping in shock and then pretending nothing had happened...LOL! That's pure comedic genius right there. JK rocks. Or, maybe I'm the only one who finds that funny...I do have a very weird sense of humor..._

_On a more related note, enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter 2: What Was I Always Taught as a Child? Oh, Right. What Mum Says Goes.  
**

When my eyes finally fluttered open after a rather strange dream involving Chimeras doing a polka, it took me a while to figure out what was amiss with the situation. I laid there and listened. It was much too quiet. Usually, the sound of Chadna banging on the bathroom door and shouting at Mary that she'd been in the shower far too long, and that she would surely drown if she stayed in much longer was what woke me up in the mornings. And yet all I could hear was the sound of birds chirping obnoxiously joyfully outside. If only I wouldn't feel guilty for blasting the innocent creatures with my wand; they resembled my lovely owl far too much to settle correctly if I hurt them. Grumpily, and still half asleep, I rolled out of bed and stumbled to the window in order to shut it. Bloody birds. Before I'd even taken two steps, I ran into something very solid and extremely out of place. What the_—_?

How had my wardrobe _moved_?

Fully awake now due to my throbbing shinbone, I glanced around the much smaller space than I'd expected to see. It took me a few seconds to fully understand the meaning behind my moving furniture. Oh. Right. The first tip off should have been that there were no bed hangings drawn around my bed. That, and the walls here were a pale shade of blue. The answer was easy; I was at home in my incredibly tiny, but albeit comfy room. If my shin wasn't hurting so badly, I would have smacked myself upside my very dense head. Every winter and summer break, I would consistently forget that I wasn't at Hogwarts my first few nights back in my bedroom. Sometimes when this happened, I felt incredibly saddened, like I'd just been woken from a nice dream. However, being home did have its advantages. I closed the window—as good as a _Silencio _spell against the birds' songs—and crawled back into my bed.

Aw, my bed.

Lying face first into my pillow, breathing in the scent of it, reminded me of childhood, of days when my biggest worries had been how to convince Mum to buy me a package of chewing gum at the store. Usually, she would say no, insisting that I was much too young to _not_ get it stuck in Petunia's hair, and yet somehow a pack would always find its way into our shopping basket. Oh, my first experiences with magic. To be young again…

I snorted into my sheets; I was thinking as if I was about to keel over and die in my walker. I wasn't even out of my teenage years yet. By Wizarding standards, however, I was an adult now…

Oh, how the youth pass us by.

"Good, you're up," came a sharp voice simultaneously with the sound of my door hitting the opposite side of the wall.

I peeked out from under my blankets, surprised that she had even bothered to come greet me at all. I'd been home for five days now, and I'd barely seen my sister, let alone talked to her. "Morning to you too, Tuney."

"You know I hate that name," she responded, throwing open my curtains. Oh, what a sweet, thoughtful sister I had. Really. In response, I threw my arm over my face, groaning.

"And you know I hate it when my curtains are opened before I'm out of bed," I retorted back, burrowing my head underneath my pillow to escape the brightness that was only intensified as it reflected off of Petunia's blonde head and then glittered around the room as the beams of light hit her engagement ring.

Wait. Brightness? I sat up in bed, looking out the window. Blue sky, burning sun, some cloud coverage, but I could deal. After all, it was nice to know the sun still existed after ten consecutive days of rain. My last few days of my sixth year had been plagued with storms. It hadn't done much to detract from the dreariness of exams. And I was pretty sure the awful weather had followed me home; well, at least our family garden was doing well.

"It's sunny," I exclaimed, throwing my legs off the side of my bed, instantly happier despite my rude awakening.

Instead of reveling in the wonderful day the sun promised to bring, Petunia simply snorted as if I were the daftest person alive. Which, according to her, I was, seeing as I hadn't finished my Muggle education. She liked to gloat about that, talking about politics and national health care with my father during dinners and then continuing to yap at my dad about finances as he tuned her out with the television. It was really quite tedious—her gloating, not her actual spout of knowledge, although trying to sit with her as she gabbed on and on was enough to send even McGonagall to the crazy house. But I supposed that was just what sisters did. Petty arguments.

"Your day's about to darken," she said then, her lips pursing as her forehead scrunched in aggravation. She must have taken a drama class at some point in her school years, because her dramatics were spot on for being over_-_the_-_top.

I wondered what I had done now. It wasn't even nine in the morning yet. "What do you mean?"

"Vernon's second cousin_—_your dance partner for the wedding_—_kindly informed me last night that he's going on vacation to Majorca for three weeks."

It was hard to sympathize with her disappointment.

After getting engaged just a month earlier, Petunia had already hammered out many of the wedding details, including a dance number the groomsman and bridesmaids had to perform at the reception. Petunia had become somewhat of a dance Nazi and was insisting on practicing nearly every day this summer, due to the fact that most of the wedding party would be back to university come September. Seriously, I had nearly declined the Maid of Honor position my sister had so generously handed to me my first night home just to avoid the awfulness of it all. Unfortunately, my mum's sheer happiness over the fact that her two daughters were going to be standing up at the altar was enough for both of us to cover our respected scowls with tight grins. My scowl, over the fact that I would have to dance with one of Dursely's repulsive relatives in front of hundreds of people; Petunia's, due to the fact that Mum had subtly hinted that one's sister was a best friend for life, and thus should be treated accordingly, hence the whole _honor_ of being Petunia's maid until she left for her honeymoon.

I tried to hide my exultation over the news that the dance lessons would be postponed nearly a month by occupying my time with my dresser. I could tell that Petunia was very close to breaking point; she liked things to be prompt and perfect. This setback was nearly catastrophic in her eyes, as if You_-_Know_-_Who himself had accepted a wedding invitation with a Dementor as his plus_-_one.

"Talk about last minute," I muttered, hiding my grin into my sock drawer.

"No matter," she said curtly, "it's just a minor drawback."

"I'm sure we'll dance just as well in August as in July," I answered, trying to reassure her.

She tutted her tongue at me impatiently. "My wedding does not revolve around Vernon's hideous cousin," she said stiffly. "We're starting tomorrow."

Well, bring in a Thestral and call me a hunk of raw meat. This sucked. "What's your point then?" I asked, my bad mood returning. I tried to focus on my view of the garden.

"You need to find a replacement."

That brought me up short. I swung my head back around to stare at my sister incredulously. "Me? Why is it _my_ job?"

She rolled her dark, blue eyes. "He was _your _partner."

"Yeah," I retorted, "for _your _stupid dance routine."

Crap on a Hippogriff hill. I hadn't meant to say that; that was meant to stay strictly in the confinements of my own privatized thoughts that I liked to call my Pensieve. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tight. "I don't have time to run about trying to find another unfortunate bloke to suffer through practice with you."

"Oh, like I do?" I shot back, ignoring the fact that it was summer, and I really didn't have anything to do…besides my homework, but who really did it this early into the holidays? However, it would make for a nice excuse.

In an act that was so Petunia, her hands jumped to her hips, and she placed her weight onto her right leg; her stance of annoyance for having to deal with her little sister. "If you actually knew some boys, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult."

Her words stung slightly. I'd seen Petunia go through her fair share of boyfriends throughout the years, and though it had perplexed me—due to our sisterly rivalry—that some had genuinely liked her, most of all I'd been jealous. I mean, I was Witch, after all. Shouldn't I be able to charm my way into a bloke's heart? The one boyfriend I'd had didn't' even stack up to the pile that Petunia had collected. Was my sister really more likeable than me? I instantly felt awful for even asking myself that question, because not only was I talking to my own brain, but it wasn't Petunia's fault she'd received dad's bad genetics that seemed to have skipped over him to my sister like a rabid flea.

Oh, that was mean and untrue; although, she did have Granny Evans' slightly elongated neck. Petunia wasn't ugly, but sometimes I liked to pretend she was when we argued and I imagined her as a stub-legged troll with two teeth and a bad toupee. _Be nice, Lily._

But one look back at her smug face and I had balled my hands into fists, strangling the life out of my poor pair of socks. "Fine," I said, "let me just _owl_ afriend."

Inwardly, I grinned at the spasm of fear that shot across her face. Usually, I tried as hard as I could not to resort to magical threats in fights against my sister; after all, that _was_ what had driven us apart in the first place. Magic. But sometimes…well, it did feel good for a few seconds until the guilt settled into the very depths of my stomach.

She inhaled sharply, regaining her composure. "You have until tonight to find somebody _normal."_

"Fine," I humphed, turning my head away from her.

"Or I'll find one for you," she threatened.

I shuddered, thinking of all of the horrifying possibilities Petunia could come up with. All of Vernon Dursley's relatives were bigger than him. Not to mention scarier and more obnoxious. Petunia grinned at my obvious discomfort, and I could tell that suddenly, she wouldn't mind finding time in her _oh so _busy schedule which, I was almost positive, only consisted of polishing the rock on her finger for the fourth time this morning and tasting wedding cake, to call up a few more of Vernon's friends.

"Fine," I repeated myself.

Turning on her heel, she placed one of her feet over the threshold before turning her long neck_—_bless, Granny Evans_—_to glance back at me with a smirk worthy of James Potter. "Really, Lily, you should find a better vocabulary."

And then she was gone.

The rest of the day was, obviously, spent in a haze of left over bitterness. I grumbled nonsense words about ungrateful sisters with bridezilla OCD as I poured myself some cereal into a bowl. Agitatedly, I ripped through the pages of the newspaper my dad had left on the table, and when I was done with that my mutterings to myself continued as I lathered shampoo into my hair. And though the minty smell of it was strong enough to clear my nostrils, it wasn't enough to clean out my mood, and my unheard insults continued as I dressed. Normally, it didn't take me this long to get over spats with Tuney. It was just that usually I had someone to vent out all of the venom to. Unfortunately, today, I was left to my own devices, as my dad was at work, Petunia was who knows where with her one_-_and_-_only, and my mum had gone out with Dursely's mother for a pre_-_marital bonding session.

Poor Mum. I felt rather sorry for her.

It wasn't that I disliked Vernon, exactly. It had more to do with the fact that he wasn't too fond of me. Like Petunia, I thought that he often felt that I stole too much of the glory from my sister_—_not that I tried, but having a daughter that attends a magic school could play quite a trump card. And I supposed that was sweet, that he cared so much for his fiancée and all. But it didn't do much to put him into my good graces. Not to mention he could be a tad prejudice against people whom he found to be beneath him, like the poor, the unemployed. Me. The freaks of society.

He really was a lovely man.

But I refused to prance around a cheesy dance floor with a man he associated himself with, especially since they were all ex-university boxers or last year's beef eating marathon champions. Not that I had a choice to back out of the wedding party now, but since I had a way to postpone the dancing torture for a few weeks I had to take it. At least it would save my toes from fractures for a while. Imagine, being stepped on by one of Dursley's heavy_-_weight boxing mates. I could only imagine it would be equivalent to being mowed over by the Knight Bus.

So, I tried to come up with people that I knew Petunia would deem as _un-freakish_; in other words, people who were completely boring. Most of my friends that I had known from primary school had all recently left to attend colleges or universities in different parts around the country. Not that I'd kept in contact with them much. After all, it was sort of difficult to keep up pretenses—when I'd left school at age eleven, the story had been that my parents had decided to place me into a private, boarding school further north (although, how anyone could get further north than Liverpool was beyond my comprehension). And, technically speaking, that was all true, but it left a few things to be desired. And how well could a friendship really grow when it revolved around lies that covered up the only interesting thing about me?

I mean, what would we talk about? The weather?

I wondered how angry Petunia would be if I simply owled Chadna.

Alright, wrong gender, Lily.

I got on pretty well with Remus Lupin, but seeing as he was a Wizard _and_ a werewolf, somehow I doubted he would fit Petunia's normalcy quota.

As if it would give me some sort of answer, I glanced around my room. My lovely barn owl, Ringo_—_yes, Petunia and I had been quite obsessed with the Beatles when I had gotten my owl on my first trip to Diagon Alley, and my crush on the drummer had reached its peak_—_was sleeping in his cage. I stroked his white chest softly, observing him. He really was beautiful, with his heart-shaped light face framed by the reddish-brown of his body. The first time I'd seen him, I remembered thinking he was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever laid eyes upon. Love at first sight. Badda bing, badda boom. Alas, if only Ringo were human.

Now you've got the wrong species, Evans.

Watching my beloved, personal mail-bird as he snoozed away oddly inspired me, so I pulled out a piece of parchment from my school trunk and began to scribble a note to Chadna, letting out all of my emotions onto the blank page. Aw, writing; it really was therapeutic. Slowly, I began to feel better, and by the time I'd ended the letter with a plea for Chadna to take some Polyjuice potion in order to turn herself into a boy, I'd thought of some other prospects.

I had cousins. Surely one of them would come here for three weeks to help me out. Granted, I didn't have many, seeing as neither one of my parents had more than two siblings each. For some reason, the Evans and Gallagher (Mum's maiden name) members didn't have large families; perhaps it had something to do with the fact that some sort of family-tearing row always occurred that frightened us into extending our family any larger than it already was. My dad called it the Evans' Curse.

Mum called it a low_-_conceiving rate.

Just as I was debating over which cousin of mine to ring up out of the two male ones that I had, someone pushed my doorbell, the short musical note echoing around the walls.

Maybe it was our milkman. Or a Death Eater. Nah, it was probably just the milkman.

Suddenly, I was ravenous for a cold glass of milk. And a cinnamon roll.

But when I opened our front door, my hello got lost somewhere between my lungs and throat, and I spluttered wordlessly as I chocked on it. _Splah! _Maybe it was because I was becoming slightly delirious from the lack of oxygen, but I was almost positive my eyes were bugging out of my head like some Muggle cartoon character who'd just been hit by a mallet. Exaggeration really was a lovely thing to play with.

Needless to say, it wasn't the milkman.

My Death Eater guess had been closer.

There was a boy standing in the milkman's place who was far too young and far too cute to be old Harvey. In regular circumstances, opening my front door to see a good_-_looking teenager rather than my grumpy, graying utter_-_squeezer would have been a welcome change to my otherwise bitter day. Today, however, the surprise sent my brain plummeting to my toes. The dark haired boy had stepped back from the doorstep and seemed to be contemplating the first story windows as if he were thinking about jumping up to them. In the split second that it took for him to realize that I'd opened the door, everything came rushing back.

Well, this was a hot mess.

I hadn't thought about that ridiculous challenge since the day it'd been set. With exams arriving and my busy study schedule, every thought of this moment happening had Apparated clear from my mind without any splinching of a figment. Besides, I'd never actually _thought_ it to be a possibility, had never given a moment's thought about what I would do if he _was_ to show up at my house, casually clad in a pair of jeans and a red t_-s_hirt like he was now. But now my stupidity had just floo powdered right back into my stunned face.

Oh, holy Merlin.

Those dangerously familiar hazel eyes met mine, and his mouth clipped upwards into the smile he wore after every Quidditch match Gryffindor won. "Aw, so the button worked then?" He glanced at the doorbell quizzically, as if it were the brain of Merlin, and then back to my blank face. "I thought it would be rude to Apparate into your bedroom."

The sound of his cheekily suggestive voice snapped me out of my daze, as if it had been a pinching hex that he had aimed at my bum. I'd been gaping at him stupidly, so I hastily clamped my mouth shut before I started drooling or something. I took a deep breath. "I wasn't aware that you had passed your Apparition test, Potter," I quipped.

I felt slightly better after the success of my wit. His failure was a fact that I liked to hold over his head, because I_—_the Muggle_-_born Witch_—_had received my license before Mr. I_-_Believe_-_the_-_World_-_Is_-_My_-_Wand. He'd left all of his toes on his right foot behind, floating around Hogsmeade without their other five companions. Seeing Potter hopping on the spot, cussing out someone's mother in order to keep back his tears had been incredibly amusing. And slightly nauseating, but I tried to only remember the hilarity of it all.

"All the best Wizards succeed on the second try," he amended as he nodded his head confidently, as if coming to my house was something he did every day, "Just ask Dumbledore."

Well played, Potter.

I crossed my arms, studying him. He looked so out of place on my doorstep_—_I mean, where were his robes? His school books? His eleven inch mahogany _wand, _that now, come to think of it, I had no idea how I knew the size of it?_— _that it was almost comical enough to send me into an insane round of giggles. Thankfully, I had some self_-_control to speak of, and instead I observed him critically. He'd gotten a haircut, I noticed. It was shorter, more controlled, as if he'd put hair gel in it, giving it an organized messy look that took away from his boyish appeal. This was an older James Potter, and I wasn't sure I liked it. It made me feel like a volatile school girl. As if I was younger than him and, by consequence, beneath his playing level. I had to pull myself together. Because James_-_Freaking_-_Potter was on my stoop, and worst of all, I had been the one who had_—_in a very moronic and meandering way_—_invited him here.

Blast it all to Azkaban.

So, I asked the only conceivable question I could think of given the circumstances. "What are you _doing _here?"

His lips curled upwards effortlessly. "You know, it would be polite to invite your date inside."

It wasn't until that moment that I realized I'd been standing with one hand on the door knob, my body concealing the small gap I'd left in the doorway as if by hiding the inside of my house, it would be as if we were simply at Hogwarts. This setting was too personal, like he'd invaded my Muggle life as well.

Hold the owl.

Date?

"I don't recall _inviting _you here," I told him pointlessly. My case was already lost, because somehow he'd gotten here, and for some reason I felt special that he'd persevered. Wow, that was pathetic. Was I really that lonely here? I needed friends. Perhaps that explained why I was acting so calmly.

He took a step forward, his grin contagious, almost dangerously so. "I've always been unconventional," he seemed to purr as my innards played patty cake with the lining of my stomach. I was going to be sick. He must have seen the green tinge to my complexion, because he backed away laughing, already leaping ahead to the next obstacle. "So, what's the plan?"

I shook my head. "It involves you leaving," I retorted, waving my hands at him as if to push him from my doorstep with the wind I was generating from my crazy arm movements. Honestly, he'd turned me into a windmill. "How'd you get here anyways, stalker?" I asked.

"Remus passed Muggle Studies with flying colors—those number books Muggles have are genius."

Stupid, idiotic me for not counting Remus Lupin's brains into all of this. Why couldn't all of his mates be as dense as Pettigrew? "You mean a phone book?" I asked somewhat amused by his amazement of the simplest of things—a book.

"Yeah, and thank Godric Sirius has a knack for collecting Muggle things—" he pointed to something behind him, and I leaned around him to look. For the love of unicorns…I turned back and stared at him, shock clearly present all over my face as if John Constable had painted me himself. There was a gleaming, black, hunk of beautiful metal parked on the curb of my house.

James Potter really was the Wizard equivalent of a Muggle badass.

"A broom wouldn't have made a big enough entrance, eh?" I teased sarcastically, eyeing the motorbike.

"It flies too," Potter added excitedly. There was a look to his eyes that made me feel as if he knew just how to lure me into his clever trap. "Want to have a go?"

Sure enough… Just as I was about to say yes to his smirking grin—curse his ability to make things sound so thrilling that my curiosity overrode my rationality—the sound of a decrepit car dragging down our street caused us both to turn towards the road. Ah, I would know that sound of scraping exhaust pipe anywhere. Mum was home.

Holy hippogriff.

Mum was home.

My eyes darted from the seventeen year old boy in front of me, to our family car that held my mother behind the wheel and Petunia beside her. As they pulled into our near to non-existent driveway, I could see Petunia eyeing Potter with narrowed eyes. And then, quite suddenly that it even took me by surprise—which was hard to do seeing as I'd lived with my spontaneity that I liked to refer to as my deathbed for seventeen years—I gripped Potter's wrist and pulled him closer to me. He stooped a bit so that we were eye-to-eye.

"How well do you know Muggles, Potter?"

He didn't even seem confused by my behavior. Props to him. "They're like Wizards but without wands," he replied instantly with a shrug.

Fail.

From over his shoulder, I saw my mum shove the heavy door to the car close with some difficulty. My brain was working fast; I wouldn't be surprised if steam was billowing from my ears. "Too late," I told him, "follow my lead."

His eyes glinted back. "You're on."

I shoved him away, so that he was standing upright once again; he shoved his hands into his pockets, subtly pushing the tip of his wand further into his jeans. Smooth, Potter. He was pleasantly surprising me. It was a good thing Potter had a tendency to just go with the flow; it was a bad thing that I didn't think before I opened my mouth.

"Back so soon?" I called to my mum who was currently looking from Potter to the motorcycle with a doubtful look to her face. Petunia was lagging behind, a slight frown dragging her mouth downwards to the sidewalk. I knew that she was just dying inside that I was here talking to a rather attractive bloke. It was written all over her skeptical face. And she'd been so sure that she would have to pick a repulsive character for me to waltz with.

Ha. I win.

"Marcy felt a little nauseous after eating the salmon," my mother answered. She was having difficulty focusing on me; her blue eyes kept darting to Potter. She clearly wanted to pounce. "After your fourth glass of wine at eleven in the morning, well, I'm sure anyone would feel ill."

I chuckled to myself as Petunia humphed loudly, hearing the accusation in my mum's voice about Vernon's mother. Tuney mumbled something about Marcy's alcohol intake being strictly for medical purposes before her attention, too, was caught by Mr. Suave who was currently rustling his hair beside me. How he was able to direct all of the attention while in a room was beyond me. Perhaps his head was so big that it has its own gravitational pull.

Merlin, he would be the death of me.

Too late now to back out, I stepped forwards. All I could keep repeating to myself was that my insanity would be a win-win for both me and Potter. He would get his date—in the hell house I liked to call the dance recital room—and I would get a way out of having to somehow figure out how to make my arms fit around a three hundred pound man. As much as I hated to admit it, Potter _would _be easier to be around.

"This is James P—" I paused. I'd sent home way too many letters about Potter the Pothead (I'd had to reassure my parents that Hogwarts wasn't a hub house for illegal drugs after _that_ one) to have either of them _not _recognize the name. Smiling to myself, I continued, "Rotter. James Rotter."

I could sense the playfulness in his eyes as he shuffled closer to me, placing his arm around my back, the tips of his fingers drumming onto my spine. He poked me hard once: revenge. Would it be too obvious if I elbowed him in the spleen? "Awful last name, I know," he joked, holding out his free hand towards my mum. "Must be French," he continued; my mum laughed, the traitor. "It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Evans." He flashed her a genuine smile, the sunlight illuminating his eyes to a golden glow behind his glasses—dear Dumbledore, even I found myself enamored by him for a good second—as he enveloped her hand into both of his.

And just like that, he had my already wedded mother wrapped around his undeserving, wretched finger, despite the motorbike which I was positive she'd once told me was nothing more than a two-wheeled decapitating contraption. Now, after being embarrassingly dazzled by the Muggle imposter, my mum seemed to have found a new hobby in life hazardous machines. "That looks new," she commented, glancing at the bike with, what appeared to be, a new-found interest, "I keep telling my husband we need to invest in a newer vehicle."

"That's a mate's, actually," Potter said honestly, "I'm saving up for something safer."

I snorted. Yeah, okay, if by safer he meant a faster broomstick that could go from naught to seventy in two seconds, then sure. Bloody Potter. My mother was just about oozing with approval; for all I knew, she was about to pull an arranged marriage stunt and turn me into a summer-hating Chadna.

"How responsible," my mum crooned.

"I try my best, Mrs. Evans."

"Please, call me Claire."

For once, my sister and I were thinking along the same lines. Petunia, arms crossed just like mine were, was tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. Hello? Daughters of your _husband _standing right here. Honestly, my mother was too social for her own good. Petunia finally cleared her throat, and my mother startled slightly.

"Oh, how rude of me, James," she gushed as thickly as a pint of Butterbeer, "this is my other daughter, Petunia."

My sister glanced at me suspiciously, ignoring Potter's outstretched arm that did some weird hand movement that awkwardly covered the whole thing up. "How do you know him, _exactly_?" she asked me curtly.

Potter opened his mouth—apparently not keen on giving up until my entire family fell at his feet in admiration—but I beat him to it before he could make up something incredibly outrageous that I'm sure would include an elopement and a couple of donkeys. "I met him last summer, when I waitressed." I grinned, mentally clapping myself on the shoulder and awarding myself for my humor. "He was a busboy."

I found that I was actually enjoying myself. This was fun, mostly because Potter had no idea what I was going on about. The look in his eye when I'd mentioned the word busboy had nearly broken one of my ribs as I tried to hold in my laughter. He probably thought that I'd just told my family he was a conductor on the Knight Bus, which, with his brains, he'd be lucky if he got that job.

"He just started at Oxford."

It was almost as if I'd just hit Petunia upside the head with a stick, the way she fell backwards onto her heels in disappointment. She sucked on her lip as if it were a particularly sour lemon. Even Petunia couldn't find anything to complain about with Oxford thrown in there. James Rotter was flawlessly golden. "He'll be helping me out with your dance routine, Tuney," I finished triumphantly.

Potter ruffled his hair, but not before throwing a surprised look my way. I wondered if his brain was rolling as fast as mine. "I'm quite the dancer," he commented, "people at Oxford—" I nodded at him encouragingly—"call me the feet with the beat."

Shut up, Potter.

"Three weeks is quite the commitment, James," my mum said fondly, "Lily's a terrible dancer; I pulled her out of ballet after a week because she frightened the other children."

As the two best chums laughed at my expense—ha, bloody ha—I sulked. Jeez, thanks, Mum. Really, the chipper off the old block and all that jazz. Besides, how in the world was anyone meant to perform pirouettes and leaps with only their toes as their support? Impossibly preposterous. Then I realized what she'd just said.

"Three weeks?" I yelped. I swear, our neighbor next door who was mowing his lawn even looked over in worry.

Potter the Prat patted me on the back. If his smile grew any bigger, it would eat up his entire face. That could only be an improvement, however, and I immediately made it my goal to experiment with that thought. "She's just worried that I'll show her up on the dance floor," Potter insisted, tapping my cheek flirtatiously in front of my mother and all.

Lovely.

"Shouldn't be hard," Petunia muttered.

Even Petunia was being sucked in by the idiot! Granted, she had just made a slight at my rhythmic abilities, but she was actually appraising James Rotter with something that looked akin to approval. _What was it about him?_ Merlin.

"No, no, _no_" I quickly corrected; I was good at thinking on my feet, even if I was a nightmare dancing on them. "James is only here for the weekend; his family moved further south to be closer to his school."

Potter was smirking. And to think that I thought I had learned my lesson about leaving my mouth to its own devices. How was it that my brilliant plans always seemed to backfire on me like our ancient car's engine? If I knew what was really good for me, I would have sent Potter packing the second I realized that he wasn't the milkman. I still wanted my milk, too.

Before I had time to fix my stupidity, to inform my audience that what I had really meant was that James Rotter was incredibly busy and had to rush back to Oxford-My-Arse, and that he couldn't, under any circumstances, be here for more than one night otherwise the Lily planet that seemed to be orbiting him these days would implode, my mum had snapped up James like an intrusive, hidden bear trap.

I would have to get her chained.

"If your parents don't mind losing you for a few weeks, James, I'm sure Lily would love having you," my poor delusional mum offered, despite the objections that surely was radiating off every pore in my body, like geysers of sweat.

Potter seemed quite pleased with himself, the jerk. "I wouldn't want to intrude…"

"Lily's far too lonely over the summers; we even have a spare room," my mum carried on.

Ugh, the bloke could Apparate! But I couldn't tell my mum this, because I had turned immature prankster James Potter into a responsible, intelligent rotter. My makeover was an unexpected and unwelcome miracle. But there he was, James Rotter, charmer extraordinaire. And if I pulled a whole 'gotcha moment' now, well, I would be stuck with a whale as a dance partner and a real date with James Potter.

Curse wedding receptions.

For the first time in years, I turned towards Petunia, hoping that she would reject the idea, like she did when most things looked to be going my way. There was something odd going on with her face, two different expressions trying to win it over. It seemed as if she were having an internal battle with herself. I could only imagine that she hated the fact that Rotter was above her apparently low expectations she'd set for me, but I could read the approval in her eyes over the fact that I had brought home a Muggle university student instead of a magician.

Looked like I would have to save myself.

"Mum," I began, kicking Potter in the foot none too lightly, "I'm sure he's taking summer courses."

And though he had winced so I was sure he had felt the sting, he merely tugged me closer to his side, as if we were the closest of friends in the entire universe. "I'm as free as a fanged Frisbee."

I kicked him harder for his Wizard slip.

He simply gave me look as if to say, "That's what you get for calling me Rotter."

As my mum kicked into humble and helpful host mode, and Potter came up with an elaborate story about how it was a good thing he'd brought a trunk (that deserved him another smack to the shins) full of clothes because he'd been planning on staying at a mate's house anyways, Petunia and I shared a knowing glance over our mother's behavior.

Even as children, we'd always disliked how Mum had always had the final say.

Where was the justice?

You know a betrayal is bad when it's your own mum selling you to the Dementors.

I jumped as Potter the Rotter placed his arm around my waist, his low voice reverberating in my ear. "Want to show your date to his room, Evans?"

Suck up my soul now, Dementor.

* * *

_There's chapter 2! I hope it was alright...James's arrival didn't turn out exactly how I had pictured it...but I still tried to make it work. Hopefully, it did. Next chapter should be pretty entertaining. Lily has to teach James Rotter how to be a Muggle, among other things. Hehe. To quote A Very Potter Musical, "Well, that could only lead to disaster and hilarity!" _

_Now, I'm off to watch the new Deathly Hallows trailer that apparently just came out today. YES! _

_Please review. It will make my life. No, really, it will. I work from 8am-6 and then I come home, work out, eat dinner, fit in some writing time, and then go to bed to do it all over again. Hectic summer schedule I have, huh? So, please, make it a bit more fun for me by leaving me a witty little message. _

_Thanks!_

_Tiredly yours,_

_-HeyLookTheSnitch_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** _If I were JK Rowling, I would be a lot cooler than I am. _

**A/N:** _AW! Thank you so much all of you faithful readers and reviewers! You guys are the best, and the reason that during my breaks at work I'm constantly on my phone checking my email. Hehe. Maybe that makes me look insanely popular to all of my co-workers! :)_

_Alright, so, I know this chapter is two days late. But my excuse is actually pretty funny. Here, in the USA, we had a long weekend this past weekend which completely screwed me over. Because, on Monday, I actually thought it was Sunday until I went to work on Tuesday and realized that it wasn't Monday. Wow, did that even make sense? Yeah, I'm an idiot, like Lily! See? Reading this story really gives you an exclusive look into the workings of my brain. _

_Anywho, here's the chapter. And you should be grateful that it's late, because the chapter I had before I went back to edit this was just plain awful. And, who knows, maybe it's still horrible, but that's why I have you guys to tell me. _

_So, happy reading! _

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**Chapter 3: I Must've Missed the Owl…Since When Does a Hug Constitute as Having a Boyfriend? **

It was like that old saying went: Out of mind, out of sight.

Perhaps if I didn't _think _about Potter, then his very existence would disappear from my household.

Oh, wait. It was the other way around, wasn't it?

Someone had to have made the original up at some point though, so who was to say that I couldn't start this new trend? Besides, by this point, I was willing to try anything that didn't contain Peanut Butter because I really hated that stuff, so I began to recite a mantra inside my head that went something along the lines of "Do not think of James Potter, do not think of James Potter, he's not presently in the bedroom across from mine, he's not currently flirting with my mother." It only took me a few seconds of participating in this chanting to realize that telling myself _not _to think about him was, in all actuality, causing me to think about him.

And I felt like I had joined a Potter the Rotter cult.

So much for that.

"And Lily will get you some clean sheets, won't you, honey?"

Not to mention how impossible it was to _Obliviate_ him from my mind when my own mum was practically in love with the idiot. Honestly, the look on her face; it was as if I'd just announced that Rotter was my long lost brother from London who'd grown up in Buckingham Palace his entire life and was here to present us with our share of the inheritance.

If only.

I shot a glare at Potter. "They'll be as clean as a cauldron bottom," I assured him with a smirk from behind my mother's back.

My mum laughed, covering up my magical simile with a wave of her hand that came within inches of brushing the seventeen year old along his broad shoulder; no matter, Potter knew exactly just how spotless his sheets would be. I was thinking beetle eyes and shredded snake skin. "Our Lily, she does say the funniest things," Mum concluded.

Well, thanks, I did think I had a rather humorous personality.

"She's a regular two-eyed Cyclops," James agreed, completely at ease—was there _nothing_ that got this boy by surprise?—despite my threats of throwing his blankets into the closest mud pile I could find.

Really, his subtly never failed to impress me in its complete daftness. "He studies Greek mythology," I saved, resisting the urge to _Silencio_ his big, stupid mouth.

Wizards but without a wand…_really_. It was that kind of naivety that would get him chucked into Azkaban for breaking the International Statue of Secrecy later on in life. Clearly, there was a lot that Potter needed to learn if his Muggle cover was going to stay intact. Because, if the truth came out, well, I might as well just dig myself a grave and crawl into it, leaving my wand behind so that I wouldn't be tempted to charm my way out again once the suffocation started. I mean, it wasn't as if my mum was opposed to wizards, but she _was _big on sisterly love. Mum wouldn't take to my white lie kindly, especially since it had to do with Tuney's wedding, and apparently the bride had all rights when it came to her big day. Not to mention my sister's reaction if Potter whipped out his wand in front of her and the entire wedding party. Needless to say, my life was riding on top of Potter's impulsiveness that often got him landed in detention with Filch, and his small brain that provided him with low marks and outstanding dungbomb tricks.

Godric help me.

Too bad my mum's embarrassing obsession refused to leave us alone even for the small amount of time it would take for me to _Imperio_ Potter so that he couldn't screw this up anymore than he already had. Mum fretted around him, handing him spare rolls of toilet paper and procuring clean towels as if she were making them appear out of thin air, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration be damned. It was as if Potter was a shinning medallion and my mother had been transfigured into a Niffler.

Potter really was too good at Transfiguration for anyone else's good.

Finally, after I'd convinced her that James Rotter must be incredibly tired and would surely like to simply lie down for a bit and that I would certainly get him the best sheets in the house even if I had to strip them off my own bed, she waltzed from the room, throwing a significant look my way. I quickly dismissed that, because _nothing _was going on between me and Potter other than the absolute usual—trivial challenges and unwilling follow-throughs. As soon as I heard her footsteps on the stairs, I shut the door with a snap.

The look I shot at him…I expected him to quiver behind the chest of drawers, throwing pairs of socks at me as if it would cause me to retreat.

"Did you fall from your broomstick as an infant?" I hissed at him.

Clearly, I just wasn't frightening enough. "Very plausible," he answered before the twit flopped down backwards onto the bed, bouncing up and down slightly as if testing the springs. "Dad bought me my first broomstick before I could walk."

I ignored that useless bit of information. "You're supposed to be an Oxford student, not a night-time comedian at the Three Broomsticks," I accused him instead.

He smiled cheekily. "Came to some of my gigs, have you?"

I rolled my eyes, my hands snapping to my hips. "Listen, Potter, we have some things we need to discuss."

"Like that Confundus charm you used on your mum?" he asked, his eyebrows traveling up his forehead in squiggly lines, his mischievous accusation spreading into amusement across his lips that left me quite gob-smacked as to what he was talking about.

Oh.

The nerve…as if it had been _my_ fault that my mother had—for reasons unbeknownst to me—taken a liking to motorbikes, universities, and conceited pinheads with nice-looking faces. "I did not charm my mother, you prat. _You _were the one with a wand," I retorted.

Shrugging, he winked. "Well, I do have that affect on people."

Ugh, please. Merlin, save me. "Focus, Potter," I snapped, rubbing the temples of my forehead.

"On what in the name of Merlin's knickers is going on?" he suggested. "Not that I'm particularly complaining—" he patted the empty space beside him on the bed as his eyes roamed over my tense body; I crossed my arms across my chest—"but since I'll be here for a while, I should get my story straight."

I didn't like the certainty in his voice, as if it had been _my_ idea to house Potter in a place other than a mental institution or a kennel. "You won't be here for that long."

He pushed himself forward. "You owe me a date," he reminded me playfully.

"Not a three week vacation," I fought back. It was totally useless, however, because my mum loved playing host almost as much as she seemed to adore James Rotter and would not, even under life or death circumstances, allow me to levitate Potter back to his prick-mobile even a day early.

"Dates don't have expiration dates."

The bloke seemed beside himself with happiness at the luck he seemed to have. I had to shove him back into his place before his exultation at his win caused him to get down on one knee or cause him to pee on my foot. "You obviously don't have a clue," I retorted.

"Do you?"

For a few seconds, we stared at each other, him out of amusement for this hideous situation that he thought to be a flask of Felix Felicis, and me wishing I had the ability to shoot Unforgivable Curses from my eyes. He was impossible. Groaning in frustration, I grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, thrusting his wand from his pocket and Accioing the dictionary that was on the shelf in my parents' study. Completely bemused, Potter watched me as I threw open the door, caught the heavy book, and flipped through the pages.

"Date," I announced, reading from the text and ignoring Potter's outrageously bewildered grin, "a social appointment, engagement, or occasion arranged beforehand with another person: _to go out on a date Saturday night." _

His back was now resting up against the bedpost, his arms crossed in front of him so that his subtle muscles became more apparent as they bulged against the restraint. His white grin seemed to gleam. It was a pity he was such a twat. "Saturday works for me."

The book shut with a snap, defeated under the egomaniac's thick skull. "I think you missed the point, Potter."

He was grinning at me in an unsettling way as he pointed at my failing friend, Webster. "What is that anyways?"

Well, we might as well start the Muggle lessons now. I shoved his wand back into his chest. "A dictionary."

Before I could react, he'd grabbed the book from me and tossed it carelessly behind him. It landed with a clunky thunk in the corner of the room, and I gaped at him in disbelief that he could be so intrusive. "Well, that's about the most obnoxious thing I've ever seen."

Glaring again, I said, "Must be your soul mate then."

"What does that make you?"

I sighed deeply, hating myself. "Your reluctant dance partner."

Just then, almost as if she'd been listening through the crack at the bottom of the door and had found her opportune moment to burst in and talk about herself, my dear sister called out to us from the hallway, her voice shrill. Out of the sheer principle of being alone with a boy in a bedroom, I paused like I'd just broken into Gringotts, looking from the doorway to Potter. Something began to make a rustling noise; the doorknob turned with a stiff metallic sound—for we hardly ever used the spare room—and that's when I noticed the wand in Potter's hand.

Didn't normal people wait to be asked in? It was rude to just barge on in without giving your sister time to hide the magical instrument in her supposedly Muggle friend's hand.

So, what else could I do?

I launched myself at Potter to hide the stick, grabbing his neck and throwing us into an uncomfortable hugging position as I groped for his wand that had somehow become trapped in between our two bodies. Someone gasped—it could've been me, Potter, or Petunia for all I knew—as I finally found his wand and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. Potter jumped slightly, his hand that was on the small of back pulling me closer in response.

I swear he even chuckled in my ear.

Out of the sheer shock of my attack—or maybe his hormonal instincts enjoyed the way we were pressed up against each other—Potter left his arms around my waist even as I pulled away to face my sister, my cheeks rather red due to the fact that I'd nearly just touched James Potter's bum.

"_What_," she began, eyeing us nosily, "are you two doing?"

For the love of Bertie Botts and his every flavored beans. I pushed Potter off of me, wiggling out of his embrace as if I'd just realized that the kitten I thought I'd been snuggling up with was actually a coiling cobra. Self consciously, I straightened my shirt, wiping his invisible scum off of it. When I glanced at him, he was smirking in the way he usually did right before he came up with a well-spun story that would charm his way out of trouble. Because, he too had realized what our recent position must have looked like to an outsider—especially to a sister like mine, who loved delving into and over emphasizing any sign of gossip or romance, or, even better, romantic gossip; it was why the floor underneath her bed was covered in tabloids and celebrity magazines—and he was ready to incorporate that into our already tall-tale.

All I could do was scowl at him inside my own head, because sometime's his brain was able to churn just a millimeter faster than mine.

Potter tugged at my hip, bumping it up against his. It seemed to burn in repulsion. "Sorry, it's been a while since we've seen each other."

Not long enough, Rotter, not long enough.

I only rejected the idea of grabbing his wand back from him to poke him in the eye with it because that would put my fingers dangerously close to his buttocks again. When I met my sister's suspicious eye, I tried to smile, but it could have been a grimace for all I knew.

She waved her bony hand between us, the diamond there catching the light and nearly blinding me. "Are you two—" she paused, and the tips of her mouth twitched upwards, her blue eyes lightening more than I'd ever seen them do when she'd been around me—"dating?"

_What?_

Stunned by my sister's suggestion and even more shocked that, for the first time in nearly seven years, her tone seemed to insinuate a hint of her being proud of me, I couldn't find it within myself to decline the proposal fast enough. It was this hesitation that gave Rotter the opportunity to seal the deal as strongly as an Unbreakable Vow.

"I suppose the Sphinx is out of the pyramid now, Lily."

I blinked. And blinked twice, like I was a stunned dragon that had just been hit by a Conjunctivitis Curse. "He's really into Egyptian architecture," I mumbled automatically, once again.

Stupid boyfriend.

Wait.

_Boyfriend?_

Son of a Banshee.

It was definitely me who gasped this time.

And then I felt Potter's arms fall from around me as Tuney towed me by the elbow out of the room for what I was sure would be a very pleasant lecture about how absurd it was to think I was dating anyone, let alone an intelligent uni-student. When I turned my head to mutter _Avada Kedavra _at the bespectacled pothead, he simply shrugged his shoulders innocently, his eyes bright with amusement at his own self-cleverness as he mouthed _miss you _at my retreating back.

Oh, he was going to get it.

Once we were out of hearing range, Petunia dropped my arm and stepped back, appraising me with a look akin to a person who'd just opened the front door to find five hundred pounds instead of six bottles of sour milk. Well, that was something new. "James is _normal_," she breathed at me.

Trust something as simple as that to amaze my sister into a bout of kindness. Reprimanding myself for starting this whole thing, and cursing Potter to the darkest ring of You-Know-Who's inner circle, I nodded. "Surprised?" I asked to hide my confusion as to what exactly her facial expression was conveying: disbelief or constipation, because, if it was the latter, I had some potion ingredients that would surely un-stopper that in a jiffy.

So, it surprised me greatly when she grinned a little tightly—I mean, the muscles in her face should be rather stiff considering the permanent I-have-an-Acid-Pop-burning-a-hole-in-my-nostril look she usually wore—her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders as she bobbed her head. "I thought there wasn't any hope for you, freak," she commented, though the way she'd voiced my endearing nickname didn't carry with it the same type of insulting sting as it normally did.

Taken aback by this more than anything, I simply stared, wondering when the sister I knew and hated would re-inhabit her body. When her unnatural smile continued to be directed at me, I threw down the last of my knives and pitchforks; it was far too late to back out now. Any last ditch-plan I'd been hopeful enough to keep around in my brain disappeared faster than a House Elf presented with clothes. Because, for the first time since I'd been eleven, Petunia was treating me as a full-blooded, actually related and not abducted from Planet Freakazoid sister rather than an unapproachable Dementor who sucked up her soul despite her failed Patronus (because, she wasn't a Witch, see?).

The whole thing left me feeling rather lightheaded.

Petunia rattled on, apparently unaware of her out-of-the-blue personality disorder. "Oxford student…" I peered at her strangely as she nudged me awkwardly in the ribs in a rare moment of sisterly affection. And it didn't matter that she missed and hit my boobs instead because of our lack of practice; at least she had tried. "He's completely gorgeous, as well."

Dazedly, I wondered if my sister's sentiments would change if I told her how big his wand was. I kept my mouth shut_. Don't ruin the moment_. As she continued to list off James Rotter's other great attributes as if she were trying to sell him to me, I marveled at the fact that something as simple as bringing home a Muggle boyfriend could sew a stitch between us again, and, no matter how brittle it may be, at least it was something.

Huh.

Too bad it was all a lie.

And as abruptly as it took for McGonagall to hand Sirius Black a detention slip, I found myself angry, because it seemed as if my sister would never want me to ever be happy again. I mean, hadn't a Muggle dance partner been enough for her? Now she'd gone and given me a Muggle boyfriend as well. The insensitive thoughtlessness of it all sent my brain spinning. "Why'd you come into the guest room, anyways?" I asked her, interrupting her rotten list which included his apparently wealthy background—"After all, he's gotten into a school like Oxford!"—and his seemingly firm bum—"He must be a rower to have muscles like _that!"_

Yeah, well I supposed even the puniest of blokes would look leaner than Dursley. Really, for the love of Dumbledore, she could have him.

"I wanted to fill James in on the expectations for dance practice tomorrow," she answered logically, though I saw the curiosity there.

Yeah, she probably just wanted to stare at his rower's athletic bum. Little did she know that his buttocks actually spent most of its time on a broomstick…that could fly.

"Oh, you mean the no-fun rule?" I teased darkly as I became more and more aware that I was mostly angry at myself.

"At least you won't have to practice with a walrus."

Touché.

My mouth popped open in surprise, because Petunia had always insisted that the Dursleys were a family we should strive to replicate because of their work ethic (they sold _drills_, for Hufflepuff's sake) and ambition (to be larger than their house), and then we were both laughing, and my anger disapparated out of myself. This was so nice that it almost felt as abnormal as Dumbledore would look in Muggle clothing. "Who fed you a vial of Polyjuice potion?" I questioned as we settled down, leaning against opposite walls in the narrow hallway.

Her lips pursed on instinct. "Keep your abnormality down to a minimum," she said lowly, glancing behind us to the closed door where Potter lurked doing who knows what to the walls. "Don't scare off the only likable thing about you."

Always so pleasant, she was. I turned my back to her, retreating towards my apparently 'saving grace.' Gag me. "Well, if you'll excuse me," I told her as my parting words, giggling at my own hilarious wit. "I have to go feed him his hourly dose of love potion." And I opened the door and shut it in her amused yet disapproving face.

A thought occurred to me then, and I instantly peeked my head out again. She was still there, obviously preparing to enhance her skills in eavesdropping. "Don't tell Mum and Dad," I beseeched. It was already bad enough that one family member thought Potter and I were snogging mates. The less people who knew, the less situations there would be where I would have to actually pretend to like him.

By the spark in her eyes, I knew that she'd just been pulled in by the scandalous secret of it all. "Fine, Lily," she amended, "we'll just keep your most redeemable quality between us."

Aw, thanks, Tuney. Always so loving. I knew I could count on you. The door clicked shut once more, in order to hide my pleased grin.

For a while, I stared at the oak door, smirking at my joke but reveling in how nice it felt to, not only have a sisterly secret between Petunia and me, but also at how wonderful it felt to have a normal conversation with Tuney. I chuckled out loud at my use of Petunia's favorite 'n' word. And then I realized where I was and I spun on my heel to find him exactly where I'd left him.

"You're a prat," I told him half-heartedly.

I desperately wanted to tell him off, to shout at him so loudly that the rest of my family heard the truth and I wouldn't have to continue this charade. But, truth be told, I couldn't find it within me, because Petunia was actually proud of me, and somewhere, deep down, that still mattered to me.

Bullocks.

I shut my eyes and rubbed them with my thumbs, trying to figure out what to do here. I'd already decided it was far too late to stop. And it was only a few weeks; I tolerated Potter all year at school, surely I could live through twenty days. Right? Right. When I opened them, Potter had moved slightly, his hand hovering near his back pocket.

"You know," he began lightly, "that insult lacked its usual bravado."

Tell me something I didn't know, Potter. And did he not feel at all abashed for blatantly lying to my sister and practically forcing himself onto me? "I'm starting to think you can produce one strong Confundus Charm, you rotter."

He laughed shortly. "Okay, we've really got to work on your refusal to say my first name," he concluded as my eyes narrowed. It wasn't as if he had an ugly name—no, James was perfectly normal—but I'd called him Potter all these years to keep our relationship as impersonal as possible. When I looked at him, he was grinning at me. "Though I commend you for your sneaky humor, if you continue to call me a name that reminds me of a ten day old banana for the next three weeks I might just have to knock myself in the head with a Beater's bat."

"What, you mean Rotter?" I asked intentionally.

Predictably, he didn't bite my bait, instead choosing to just glide right over it. "Girlfriends don't usually call their boyfriends rude names."

"But Rotter's your last name, _Rotter_." Wow. I was enjoying myself far too much. Even I was getting sick of my own joke. No wonder he chose to ignore my ill-meaning enticement.

There was a silence broken only by the sound of his impatient sigh that told me that he thought I was being extremely silly. And then he winked, taking a step forward, and I knew that I instantly should have run from the room or at least disarmed him, but the look on his face kept my feet firmly planted even if my body had recoiled backwards.

"Lily," he suddenly murmured in a low voice that seemed to reverberate from deep within his chest, dragging it out so that it almost seemed to turn into its own song that left me oddly breathless. What the—I was such a—what was my name again? Merlin, his hypnotically charming skills really should be made illegal by the Wizardgamot. I jumped when, with a click of his fingers, he snapped us both out of our staring competition that I had no recollection of starting. "See?" he stated, arms held out as if he was about to bloody catch me, "It's not hard."

I really couldn't stand him. But the insufferable jerk was right, so I took a deep breath and focused my gaze on a spot a little above his left ear. "Fine, _James_." The name tumbled from my lips as if I couldn't get it out fast enough.

He ruffled his hair as he smirked. This whole situation wasn't helping his ego any. "So, we're doing this?"

"You didn't really leave me a choice," I accused pointedly.

"Sirius calling the cauldron black much?" he chided.

I would really have to work on stopping him from using his magical sayings. "What do you mean?"

His hand appeared in front of my face, showing the number one with his finger; I wondered how long this list would be and whether or not I should settle myself down into a chair. It would probably take up his toes as well as his fingers, seeing as it had been _me_ improvising this plan that I'd unceremoniously dragged him into. Apparently, I was a handful.

"Why am I a Muggle?" he asked.

For some reason, I found that question extremely hilarious, especially when it was accompanied with his straight forward, unmasked confusion. Not to mention that _that _was the first question on his agenda out of all of the possibilities. "It's what you wanted, wasn't it?" I said, recalling our conversation from that day by the lake, "A Muggle date." He seemed not to find this answer adequate for all of the random situations I'd thrown him into in the past hour. His arms crossed again; I mimicked him. "My sister doesn't like wizards."

"You're a witch, though," he countered.

I threw him an obvious look that clearly told him all he needed to know about my relationship with Tuney…well, before James Rotter came along, anyways. Honestly, did he not pay attention at all? So for the next ten minutes I filled him in on the bride, the whale, the ridiculous dance recital, and everything in between. I just hoped his pathetic mind would be able to process it all, which seemed highly unlikely due to his inquiry half-way through about whether or not Vernon was a Muggle or a rotund giant.

Honestly.

When I was done with, what I was sure to have been, a very comprehensive summary of my extremely understandable actions, I took a breath before tackling the next obstacle that had actually been his entire fault and not mine in the slightest. Shocker. "Now, we need to discuss mine and James Rotter's relationship."

His grin was far too victorious for my liking. "You must have spoken to your family about me quite a lot if you had to change my name."

Well, it appeared that Potter wasn't as unobservant as I originally thought. "They also know quite a lot about the Prefect's bathroom, so don't feel that special," I countered. "So, we're going to take this…_thing_ slow."

"Like the speed of a Comet 140?"

"Like a Flobberworm," I corrected seriously, slowly so that there would be no chance of a misunderstanding, because for some odd reason, with him, there was always an _intentional_ miscommunication. "No touching, no hugging, and if you try to kiss me, I swear I'll snap your wand in half."

Before he could get an objection in, I continued. "And we're _not _telling my parents, especially my mum."

My skin seemed to boil at the sight of his suggestive smile. What could he possibly have gotten out of any of that? "Is it just me, or have you been mentioning my wand a bit too much today for it to be completely innocent."

I punched him in the arm. "You're a _Wizard_, dimwit."

Really. Boys. They were all simply hormones, testosterone, Y-chromosomes, and nothing else but sheer idiocy. Only a bloke would agree to deceive an entire family while pretending to be that family's daughter's boyfriend just so that daughter wouldn't have to suffer through ballroom lessons with a boxer.

I supposed I should be somewhat grateful.

"Oh, right," he said, slightly sarcastic, "I forgot about my alternate identity."

I couldn't help but laugh at the stupidity of it all. "Speaking of which," I began, "Muggle lesson number one: No more wizard sayings or magical jokes." I peered at his sneaky grin, and my stomach twisted impulsively. "Actually, maybe you just shouldn't speak at all."

He was sitting down again, his expression easy, his tone so light and carefree, that I had to mentally commend him. For if it had been any other boy from Hogwarts, well, their head probably would have exploded from the stress of it all by now. Even I knew I was a lot to handle. Instead, Potter was simply lounging on the bed as if he went through this kind of deceit and villainy every day—Oh, wait.

He hadn't dubbed himself as a Marauder for nothing.

His eyes seemed to be laughing at me from behind his glasses that I suddenly felt like smashing as if they had personally offended me. "So, just to clarify, now I'm a Muggle who was put under a _Silencio_ charm?"

I slapped my palm to my forehead. I gave this thing until dinner.

OO

_Act normal, act normal, as if your Muggle friend hasn't just Apparated back to his house in order to get a trunk full of clothes that he'd already told your mother was in the sidecar of his motorbike. _

When I entered into the kitchen somewhat nervously (because who honestly knew if Petunia would keep to her side of the bargain), nothing seemed out of place. The world still seemed to be spinning on its axis, hell hadn't seemed to frozen over (without Dementors down there, at least). Everything was running smoothly, no sign that my summer plans had just been cursed into a boyfriend—

Wait.

What was that _smell_?

It was glorious, magnificent, something that very rarely had a presence around my house. It tasted of smoky wood, charred charcoal, and a sweet July's night around the outside barbecue. In a daze, I followed the scent, my nose in the air, and looked around in confusion when I stepped outside our back door.

The red umbrella was up and swaying, covering the wooden table in shade, and I wondered how long it had taken for my mum to dust all the cobwebs off. Mum's white dinner mats were pristine and practically glowing in their cleanness, set at interval spots around the table, forks and knives set out as well. Even the hedges looked to have been pruned. Automatically, I reached out my hand towards the bowl of watermelon that acted as the centerpiece before my hand was slapped by a spatula.

The sight of my mother in an apron was hysterical.

"What," I asked, curbing my giggles, "are you doing?"

She rolled her eyes at me, wiping her utensil off on her apron. "And I thought you were the smart daughter."

"That spatula hasn't been used in about a decade," I pointed out.

"We have guests, Lily."

Her eyes glowed, and I glowered internally. "Yes, but James is hardly the Prime Min—" I stopped as the wind changed, blowing a mouth watering puff of smoke my way. The barbecue was indeed turned on, and it smelled like summer. "I love you," I murmured, forgetting the watermelon and turning towards the grill.

Mum followed me back towards her cooking station. "So," she started, removing the lid and hesitating wearily as the smoke billowed out around her, "where is Mr. Minister," she joked through teary, smoke-assaulted eyes.

"Washing up," I replied instantly.

"He really is something, honey."

She had no idea. "Yeah," I agreed, "something else."

"You should have brought him home ages ago," she continued.

I shrugged as I watched her attempt to flip the fillets that were clearly getting a little too well-done. Usually, Mum didn't cook—well, she could make spaghetti and toast, and anything else that really didn't require an oven. The grill was like a monster in her eyes, the number one demon in our household; it even beat out our temperamental washing machine. Needless to say, she never went near it. It was usually my dad's job, to grill things. There had to be something more to this than her apparent love for my Muggle friend-now-boyfriend, because she loved me as well, and I could count the times she'd done this for _me_ on one hand. Actually, I didn't even need one.

"Mum, what are you doing?"

She must have heard the suspicion in my voice, or maybe she was just so wrapped up in thinking about James that nothing else could push its way into her brain. Sighing, she threw a look at me over her shoulder. "It's the first friend you've brought home since you were ten, Lily."

Oh, the irony.

"He sort of just, showed up," I admitted.

"Just your luck, then," she stated, hissing slightly as she burned herself. After she'd put out the insignificant fire, she continued," because Petunia had some hideous partners on speed dial for you."

Yes, let's all get down on our hands and knees and thank the heavens for sending James Potter. I have been blessed by Cupid and all of the witches and wizards who have come before me.

Jeezum.

Not five minutes later, Po—_James _returned, and the git automatically declared how _lovely_ everything smelled and how _wonderful_ my mum was for doing this (even though it had been I who had flicked my wand when Mum hadn't been looking to de-burn the meat). Petunia and Vernon even made an appearance, but this wasn't really surprising, seeing as where there was food, Dursley would be soon to follow. Dad made it home in record timing as well, which gave me my suspicions that my mum had already called him to gush about James Rotter.

Goody.

Pot—_dammit—_James was really getting to meet the whole family.

"Oxford, huh?" my dad asked, his soft voice impressed, clearly thinking that his boy must be a rocket scientist. After all, the best schools anyone in my family had ever gotten into were the University of Liverpool and a wizarding school that none of my family's co-workers or neighbors knew existed.

I'd really trip-jinxed myself in the foot with the whole impressive-university story.

"Oh, Peter," Mum declared, "let the boy eat before you start with all of the questions."

James's elbow rubbed up against mine as he set down his fork politely. "I don't mind, Mrs. Evans." He turned towards my father, his grin a pleasant joke. "I'm really not that great; I blackmailed the place to let me in."

The table laughed along with him.

Except for one.

"You hear those types of stories regularly these days," Vernon drawled, disliking having the attention on someone other than himself for longer than ten minutes. "Some lowlife trying to rob a bank to pay for tuition."

Everyone was probably thinking the same thing that I was: what kind of newspapers did he read? His comment went mostly ignored, because I doubted that anyone knew how to respond.

"Still, _Oxford_," my dad said again. He turned towards me from his spot at the head of the table and winked. "I always thought you'd end up with someone more like yourself."

I shuffled my feet awkwardly underneath the table. Clearly, my dad was speaking of that fact that Rotter didn't attend Hogwarts; he'd always been the one who had, whole-heartedly, loved how I'd immersed myself into the magical world without really looking back. If only he knew…Apparently, Petunia had understood what our father meant as well, because I could practically feel her jealousy from across the table.

James laughed from beside me. "Oh, I'm sure Lily could give any one of my classmates a run for their money." He patted my arm, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd just complimented my school work, I would have stabbed him in the hand with my knife.

"Smart man," my dad approved with a chuckle. Great, he was sucking up to my father as well. Would there be no one left untouched?

Petunia's rage was becoming hard to ignore. I concentrated on shoveling corn into my mouth.

"I prefer Cambridge, myself," Vernon contributed, his arm around my sister as he stared haughtily at James as if it were his own personal fault that my parents seemed to be enthralled by his Oxford education.

When James glanced at me, I could tell that he thought Vernon was just as pretentious as I'd made him out to be. "Oh, did you graduate from there?" he asked innocently in a tone that voiced his awareness to the answer.

Dursley crossed his beefy arms and pointedly didn't answer.

There was a great clang of metal then as someone threw down their silverware onto the table; my glass rattled precariously. Without even looking, I could tell who it was who had just commanded the entire neighborhood's attention. Of course, I should have known that our recent bond couldn't have lasted much longer than this. And Merlin only knew what Tuney was thinking—perhaps she liked the sight of me sweating, or maybe she just wanted to save Vernon's ego that was nearly as fat as his arse. Most likely, she knew how much this would kill me, because I had asked her not to tell.

"They're dating!" she practically shouted, her voice high and her hands clasped into tight fists in front of her.

My teeth clenched together as I looked towards my parents.

Slytherin's knickers.

* * *

_BWAHAHA! This chapter amused me greatly. Especially because I love coming up with all of Lily and James's magical sayings and such. _

_I'll try to get back on my Monday schedule, so expect a chapter in the next few days! Yikes...I better get to writing!_

_If you made it this far, then THANKS FOR READING! Now, before you go about your normal business, please leave me a message! Drop in a review, or maybe a summary of your day, or whatever. Clearly, I have no life, so hearing from you guys is like the social party of the century!_

_Until next week, _

_-HeyLookTheSnitch_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** _Only in my best dreams._

**A/N:**_ First off, as usual, thank you a million Harry Potters to all of you who reviewed or read or favorited my story! You guys "rox my sox off" as I use to say a lot when I was thirteen. Hehe. Gotta love it. _

_Secondly, I'm back onto my Monday schedules! Woo. Excitement. Sorry that this chapter took longer than normal, but I am back on track now, and this chapter is nearly 10,000 words. All of my hard earned sweat and time went into this beast, so I hope you guys like it! With that said, I hate the ending of it, but, alas, not everyone is perfect. And neither is my writing. Aw, well, practice makes perfect. _

_Thirdly, my five year old brother just recently watched movies 1-4 of the the Harry Potter series for the first time. I was so proud, that I actually showed him the replica of Hermione's wand that I bought; the way his eyes widened, I felt so magical. Not to mention that he ran behind the couch because he was afraid that I was going to cast a spell on him. Oh, I love my brother. To be young again. Aw, who am I kidding? I still refuse to believe the Hogwarts doesn't exist. I'm still waiting for that darn owl. _

_Fourthly, well, just enjoy this chapter, okay? _

* * *

**Chapter 4: If Crazy was a Seduction Technique, I would be the Sexiest Woman Alive **

I woke up exceedingly early the following morning, throwing the pillow over my face in agitation when I saw the bright red number '8' on my bedside clock. _Go back to sleep, go back to sleep. _Angrily, I whacked myself in the head with the flat part of my palm, somehow hoping this would send me off to la-la land again. Yep, that was going to leave a bruise. Ow. I sighed. This unwizardly hour of consciousness I blamed on two different reasons.

The first had been a terrifying dream that had replayed my dear mum's shrieks of happiness that surely would have put even the Merpeople to shame from earlier that evening. Of course Mum was simply delighted with Petunia's oh-so-thoughtful outburst ("Thank God I have a daughter who enjoys sharing this type of stuff with me; honestly, Lily, keeping something like this from the woman who birthed you!"). The only thing better than me bringing home my first friend in six years would have been me bringing home a boyfriend for the first time. A boyfriend who my mother just happened to be, unceremoniously (see as she was happily married), in love with; a boyfriend who, number one, wasn't my boyfriend, and, number two, wasn't even an Oxford Muggle student.

_James _had sat there, beaming like a child on his first visit to Zonko's, as my mother had, quite literally, pounced, leaping across the table to wring his hand as if he were the bleeding Queen of England. She'd refused to let go until, despite my objections that surely no one would want to hear the tedious tale, James had relented and spun a creative story about how we'd gotten together; apparently, I was now the incredibly fortunate girl of a boy who had pursued me since last summer, throwing rose petals and other various romantic objects at my retreating feet, until I'd given in to his relentless charm—"Lily, I have half a mind to send you to Grandmum Tullia's for the summer! Keeping this from me since Easter? Maybe cleaning out chicken coups with nothing but one glove would teach you to appreciate me!"

The whole cock-and-bull story had seemed vaguely familiar.

Well, at least I now knew where Tuney had gotten her gooey-romance novel interests from, seeing how James's story had sucked in my mother, hook, line, and sinker. As for me, I was just happy that I was able to call him James without much fumbling, and that my mum would never force me to Granny Tully's; Mum still had many scars to prove the horror of the little clucking devils.

Needless to say, my dream had been utterly frightening.

The second reason that kept me from snuggling back underneath my covers was that I actually wanted to get up before my prat excuse of a fake-boyfriend did. I groaned into my pillow, cursing him for ruining my late summer mornings. But, maybe even just ten minutes of relaxation without him breathing sinful suggestions down my neck would help me come up with some sort of plan that wouldn't end badly for me.

Selfishness should be one of the seven deadly sins.

I kicked the blankets off my bed before throwing my legs over the side and standing up slowly in order to avoid my rare moments of vertigo. Quickly, I threw on my blue dressing gown, tying the silk ribbon securely around myself, before I grabbed my unsent letter to Chadna from the day before and a pen (because quills were too tedious to use outside of school; I mean, dipping, re-dipping, and dipping once again really inhibited my words per minute ratio); quietly, I opened the door and glanced down the hall.

His door was still closed.

Freedom.

And a good thing too, because I hadn't had a chance to brush my hair, and it probably resembled something close to the mess in the school owlery.

I pranced down the stairs and into the kitchen, reveling in this time I now had to myself to curl up in my hammock and vent to a letter.

"Lily?"

I jumped about a foot in the air; I swear my head nearly the cracked against our low ceilings. Frantically, I looked around the room, clutching my robe tighter around my chest as my other hand flew to my sorry-excuse of a head. "Merlin," I gasped, glaring at my dad who was sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, "you scared me."

"Who'd you think I was?" he chuckled.

"James."

He laughed again. "Trying to sneak out on him already?"

I glanced behind me furtively, before shrugging. "Every Sunday you wake up at the crack of dawn to play croquet," I accused back lightly, kissing him on the cheek before heading towards the food cupboard to grab some breakfast.

"That's after twenty years of marriage."

"With James," I began, hiding my grimace in the food cabinet, "a few months is a decade."

Aw, Weetabix, my favorite. I pulled out a package and a bowl. The rest of my family thought that the cereal tasted like the cardboard box it came in. Crazy, the lot of them. Speaking of my freakish family (and I wasn't just referring to myself in that sense), I glanced at my uncharacteristically quiet father. The dark blond hairline had started to recede slightly, and his green eyes—which were lighter than mine— were framed with merry crinkles and knowledgeable bags. It made since that he was showing his age more than my mum, seeing as he was nearly ten years older than her. He'd been a professor at the university in Liverpool when my mother had started there as a teenager and had quit not long after so as to date her with a clear conscious.

As I reached for the milk, I felt his steady gaze.

"Where's Mum?" I asked as I put the milk back into the fridge.

He'd set down the newspaper now; Muggle newspapers bored him ever since I'd sent home a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ my third year. There was nothing special about copious pages of goblin-gook that didn't even have pictures that moved and neglected to include a section on dragon care. He took a sip of tea again. "Going over our finances to plan for your and James's wedding," he answered.

Oh, well that made perfect sense.

_What?_

I coughed out the spoonful I'd just placed into my mouth. "You're joking?" I choked out, eyes wide. For the first time, I truly felt bad for Chadna, knowing exactly what it felt like to have something awful forced on you against your own will.

_Mothers._

His arms crossed across his plentiful stomach with a smile that wrinkled his eyes. "You know your old man too well, Lils."

Thanks Dad, for the wonderful timing of your humor; it was so funny, I almost _died _of Weetabix, a wheat grain bar.

"I _do_ want to talk to you about that, though," my dad continued, turning to face me in his chair.

Oh, so here it was. The reason he'd been so silent. "Don't worry," I told him, gripping my bowl in case he decided to pull another Prongs (James's prank identity) and tell me my mother had also picked out baby names that would make the last name Rotter the least bit appealing, "no marriage bells at all in the near or distant future."

Especially with James Potter.

There were many times that I wondered if my dad didn't have a drop of magical blood—I mean, I must have gotten it from someone—the way he was so intuitive and all. The look in his eyes sent me backing up slightly until I hit the edge of the counter, because I knew he was about to make me feel guilty for something that he didn't know I had even done yet. They were piercing, but soft, like he was trying to read me, to figure out whatever it was I was hiding from him. Which was a lot, actually. I tried not to squirm.

"I know your mother loves the idea," he began, watching me—I rolled me eyes; yeah, that was the understatement of the year, it was right up there with those who said You-Know-Who was only a little dangerous—"and even Petunia is hard pressed to find something to complain about—" I scoffed; it hadn't stopped her from spilling Bertie's beans—"but—" he paused, and I felt like I was holding my breath to keep back my inner monologues until he'd finished his.

"I want to make sure he's important to you as well."

I swallowed my tongue; it didn't make it to my stomach, which seemed to have sunken to my knees. Important—to me—Potter? I spluttered, spitting slightly as I said, "What do you mean?"

"I know that going to Hogwarts put a wall between you and your sister," he began; I snorted derisively. A wall that put the Great Wall of China to shame. "But, Lily, dating a Muggle boy isn't going to change that."

My innards felt like they had just deflated.

Bullocks.

He was so off, yet too close. After all, the only reason that I didn't correct Petunia's assumption of my dating life was the fact that she had been _happy _for me. However, my initial plot had simply been to have Potter as a dance partner until I could come up with someone better. We gazed at each other. And for two seconds, I had made the decision to tell him the truth, to tell him that my mind really was as cuckoo as great Aunt Georgie who had actually broken both of her legs on purpose just to get out of coming to our family reunion. After suffering through the event, however, I doubted anyone could actually blame her. My family had sent her a bouquet of flowers along with a congratulations card.

Extremity must run in our genes.

I shook my head. "Dad, I—"

No. No, I couldn't do it. Because when I looked back at his face, I pictured the disappointment that would surely flood it, imagined the words that would make me want to retreat underneath my bed and never show my disgraceful face again. And I couldn't put my dad through that kind of distress; his already high cholesterol would _Wingardium Leviosa_ through the roof. Clearly, I was thinking about everyone else's well-being here, because Mum would surely cry herself a Scottish loch and drown herself in it if James left. Yes, it was much better for everyone. Out of all of them, I was drawing the short end of the stick here.

Wow.

I was an awful daughter.

"There's more to it than that, dad." I bit my lip. "More to _him_." After all, there _was _more to him, if you counted into the equation his revolting dungbomb stash and the fake wands that made you look like an idiot when you pulled it out of your bag during the middle of an exam only to have it turn into a banner that read 'Sucker'.

He picked up his tea again. "He's a good kid," he commented. "A smart kid."

I really should have given Rotter the alibi of having no ambition and the IQ of a dead Flobberworm.

Seeing the chance and seizing it before my father decided to question me about my virginity, I threw my bowl in the sink and backed away towards the garden door. "I'm going outside now," I announced quickly.

I slid the door open and was halfway through it when my dad said, "Oh, your mum wants to know if you want to wear white or ivory?"

The door shut on his chuckling face—well, I'm glad one of us had found his lame attempt of a joke amusing— and I all but ran to the hammock, throwing myself onto it and nearly flipping it in the process. I stayed still until it finally seemed to have realized its effort of trying to buck me off like an insulted Hippogriff was futile. I won our little duel. And then I grabbed the edges of it and pulled the criss-cross rope bed around me like a noose.

Because I deserved to die.

Since it was so early, it was still quite chilly, but I felt the sun breaking through the clouds, and I shivered once as the warmth clashed with the cold. It felt nice, feeling the rays splash across my cheeks no doubt leaving behind a trail of freckles. But my stomach was still twisting. The longer I lay there, the deeper my predicament became and the more pathetic I realized I acted. Now that my entire family thought I was dating James Rotter—thanks for that, Tuney—there was no way I could avoid being around him. Because shouldn't girlfriends _like _being around their blokes, no matter how idiotic they could be? I struggled with that thought. How long would people believe that we were taking it so slowly that we barely touched?

Not long, seeing as my own parents had gotten engaged a mere five months after they'd begun to date and had Petunia exactly nine months later. In my family, love didn't waste time.

I clicked open the pen and began adding to my letter to Chadna, telling her everything, admitting my stupidity, marveling at how low I seemed to be able to stoop just to appeal to my sister, and apologizing for never taking her pain over summer love seriously.

I closed my eyes against the sun.

"Budge over, will you?"

I jumped in surprise, and then felt the uneven weight that was attempting to sit on the edge of my rope cocoon. It swayed dangerously. "No, James, don't!"

Too late. His bum made contact with the end of it, and the whole hammock lurched drastically to the left, throwing me onto my side as I gripped the edges tightly. James, broomstick balancer extraordinaire, went sprawling underneath the wild object, and he swore underneath his breath as he struggled to his feet, brushing off his red and gold pajama bottoms. "What is that monstrosity?" he gasped, trying to regain his breath, eyeing the contraption as if it were the whole common room of Slytherin gathered there.

He glared at me as I laughed, because the whole situation was just so amusing and was made all the more funny by the dirt smear on his upper lip that gave him a mustache that reminded me of Vernon's. "It's a hammock," I giggled.

"But it moved!"

"That's why I told you not to sit," I commented, attempting to sober up. "You know, not everything in the Muggle world is as stationary as our photos."

Before I could object to his sudden movement, he pulled his wand from the waistband of his pants and waved it around the hammock. "Try to overthrow me now," he challenged to the inanimate object. And he promptly sat down in a flourish of smirks, forcing himself into the small space left by my feet. The hammock didn't even budge, though, considering Newton's laws of motion (Oh, Godric, I'd been listening to Petunia far too much lately), we both should have been eating and breathing dirt right now.

"Muggles don't use stabilizing charms, James," I reminded him.

He grinned at me, brandishing his wand like a sword. "I've never been one to follow the rules."

I pulled my knees to my chest, shuffling up into a sitting position—because I didn't have to fear destabilizing anything now—for his body was much too close to mine in our current arrangement. "Try _not _following this one then; _don't_ put your wand away."

His expression was rather infectious, in an annoyingly flirtatious I'm-a-rebel-and-I-know-it way. "You might have to give me a detention, Prefect Evans," he said as he made a show of sliding his wand back into his pants, his t-shirt riding up slightly, revealing a thin trail of dark hair that meandered up to his belly button.

I hastily looked away.

"Don't think I won't," I muttered.

The self-conscious part of myself fretted over the fact that his snort made me feel as if he'd known where my eyes had traveled. "Okay, Lily, I've got a compromise for us," he announced in response. I stared at him wearily, because surely this couldn't end well. "I'll come quietly if _you_ make more of an effort to act like you actually want me."

For a while, I was struck dumb at the thought of a world where James Potter was as silent as a nonverbal spell. I had a brief vision of myself holding hands with Chadna and skipping through a field of daisies until—

Want him?

_Want him? _In what sick, twisted, chocolate frog banned world would I _ever _be possessed to—to throw myself at him? A quick picture of his tanned stomach framed by the grey waistband of his boxers flashed across my brain. Schmuck, he was a only took me a second to realize that I was gaping at him. "What kind of compromise is _that?_"

"A logical one." He watched me in a rather superior way, thick, dark eyebrows raised, the sun glinting off of his glasses nearly blinding me. "You do want them to believe us, don't you?"

Trust him to say the one thing that would get me to agree. It was as if he'd taken a gander through my brain and had figured out that I'd been debating this very same question all morning. "Like that's the only reason," I murmured, deliberately not looking at him in case my pathetically weak mind decided to attack my eyes with another flash of pornography.

He shrugged with a laugh. "Well, the perks do help me out quite a bit."

I focused on his chin as I answered, "That's why I don't want to do it." He cocked his head to the right, as if it would give him a better view of my face. "This is _pretend_, James."

"I know that."

I caught his eye then, and there was nothing there. Well, I mean, there was _life _there; Merlin, was there life, the way they seemed to sparkle and give him a look that made it appear as if he were constantly laughing. But, amidst all of that, there was no hint of a joke, no anterior motive. Nothing but wide eyed interest. Was he really suggesting this just to help me out? Or was he a better actor than I gave him credit for? After all, it had taken at least two weeks for McGonagall to no longer buy the whole 'I was walking down the stairs, tripped, and Snape was standing there; that's how he ended up with boils all over his face' excuse.

"It's just too weird," I admitted.

"Listen," he began, shifting his weight slightly so that I slid down closer to him. He had totally done that on purpose. "If you flinch every time I so much as accidently touch my hand against yours, they're going to notice."

I crossed my arms stubbornly. "I do not flinch."

My breath caught in my throat as he sat up onto his knees, his hazel eyes intent on mine as he leaned closer. "Then, don't move," he challenged.

Darn him to Azkaban.

There was nothing I could do. Nowhere I could run. Because he was testing my strength where he knew it had never been tested before. Curse my pride. Curse our challenges. All I could do was watch as he came nearer and nearer, leaning over me, towering over my insignificant body. I pressed my back further into the hammock bed, feeling the rope as it pressed into the knobs of my spine, moving my muscles as subtly as possible so as not to give away my discomfort. And it took all my will power not to jump when his arms landed on either side of me, propping himself up, because suddenly I was far too warm. My heart pounded with each inch he moved, and I felt restless, like every sinew was a livewire that could explode at a moment's notice.

I was going to fall off the face of the earth, but I couldn't, not with him there, when his arms were brushing against my hips keeping them firmly grounded. Some deeply ingrained, instinctual part of me wanted to rise up to meet him, to run my hand through his constantly windswept hair—

_Holy Hogwartians. _

"Stop," I said, turning my face away and shoving him in the chest. I was instantly ashamed of myself for how shaky my voice had sounded.

He fell back rather triumphantly. "See?" he pointed out righteously, his infamous "I knew I was right" sneer flitting across his face.

The heat of him lingered, and I deliberately gripped onto my bathrobe as if shielding me from the reminder. "You took it to the extreme," I accused, pushing myself as far away from his as possible. Realizing there really wasn't sufficient space for two people on the hammock, I stumbled off, my foot nearly getting stuck in one of the gaps between the interwoven ropes.

He stretched out, hands behind his head, in the empty place I had just vacated. "You didn't seem to mind when it was you instigating it."

"_What?_"

His eyebrows rose. "That wand attack in my room?"

_Oh. _

The hug.

And since when was our guest room referred to as _his _room? Shivers erupted down my arms.

I backed away. "That was different."

He propped himself up on his side, facing me. "We were closer then than we were just now," he smiled, apparently remembering something extremely pleasant.

Funny, I only remembered it as a necessity.

I hugged myself, trying to remind my rash brain that I actually did love myself and _Avada Kedavring_ me wasn't going to help anybody. "It just was," I stated.

"How?" he challenged.

My sigh came out in a long puff of air. "I wasn't thinking."

As he loped off the hammock with exceptional grace—although the thing was magically stationary, so it wasn't _that _impressive—I tripped over my feet in my haste to keep some distance between us. He ignored my clumsy attempt, and caught my swinging wrist up into his grasp. His hazel eyes held mine captive. "Then don't think."

The complete prick. He wasn't playing fair, because even the strongest of women would have trouble _not _being attracted to his blasted seductive stare. I took a deep breath, feeling his fingers on my skin as they trailed down my wrist and into my palm. _Schmuck, schmuck, pothead schmuck. _I narrowed my eyes—maybe if I couldn't see him properly, I could regain my strength. "That's easy for you to say, witless wonder."

The sound of the back door sliding open ceased our conversation.

"Oh, there you two are."

Both of us turned back towards the house to greet my mother, and I realized just how close I had let him come to me; our cheeks were nearly touching as our heads turned. See? When I wasn't thinking about it, I was fine. But now that I was, his presence burned. And then my mum's gaze zeroed in on our clasped hands, and her grin took up her entire mouth, and I knew that she was just barely restraining herself from grabbing the camera to document this moment.

Merlin, how would my family believe my story that James and I were taking it slowly if they kept catching us in positions that looked quite intimate? Maybe I should just switch it to a strictly no PDA excuse.

I gripped his hand tighter to keep myself from ripping my fingers from him. Just from the way he rearranged his hand within mine so that they were practically intertwined, I could sense his satisfied smile. Git. "Need us, Mum?" I asked.

"I need you to wash the car," she replied, waving a good morning towards James. "Petunia wants it nice for tonight."

Clean the car? She might as well have asked me to wash the dirt. "You can't take the rust out of the junkyard," I complained sensibly. "Besides, it's only a dance recital."

She gave me _that _look. The look that any daughter with a mother receives multiple times throughout her life. That look that clearly states just how thoughtless and childish the daughter is acting. "It's the first time the whole wedding party will be together," my mum guilt-tripped, though it was difficult for me to actually fall for it after what Petunia had done to me yesterday.

"I'd be happy to help," James offered.

Well, just throw me to the centaurs, why don't you?

"Where's Petunia?" I asked, trying to mask my whining so that Rotter wouldn't outshine my politeness and helpfulness.

"Marcy's picking us up at ten to go review the dance with the instructor," she answered. "So, just make sure the car's finished by five tonight, Lily."

Car? That was a funny way to describe the cardboard box on wheels we drove around in. Mum turned to James, patting him on the back. "You are sweet," she said before turning back towards the house. "He's a keeper," she informed me over her shoulder.

Oh, _Mum._

James bent down to my ear. "I actually have more of a Chaser's build."

I swatted his head away from me. "You—are—a—Muggle," I insisted, shoving him in the back with each word to pound the sentence into him as I dragged him after my mother.

We parted ways at the top of the staircase, and it wasn't until he untangled his fingers from mine that I realized I hadn't let go. Huh. This whole non-thinking thing really had its moments. "Get dressed," I told him, pushing him towards his—gah! The guest room!

He grinned cheekily, glancing at me as he walked away. "I quite like what we're wearing."

I simply scowled until he disappeared behind his closed door, clutching my thin dressing gown even though the tie was still in place. Blast it. Now I would have to watch what I wore when I got up in the morning.

Was nothing sacred?

After I'd placed my letter to Chadna next to Ringo's cage, I quickly picked out a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt, throwing the garments over my bathing suit; after all, I was washing a car, not attending a date at Madame Puddifoot's, thank Godric. I ran a brush through the tangled mess of my hair, wincing as it nearly scalped me, and then I haphazardly threw it all up into a ponytail. My last step was to thrust my wand into my pocket, because, with James Potter, I never knew when I'd have to use it.

I glanced in the small mirror hanging on my wall by the door, staring at my reflection, wondering what could possibly be so interesting about me to keep James here. My eyes were bright, probably from the unshed tears from yanking the knots out of my head, and seemed greener than normal against my pale skin. My dark red hair was already falling from the rubberband, framing my round face. I didn't even have makeup on.

Shrugging at my reflection, I strode from my room and over to James's. "Come on," I demanded, pounding on the door.

"Anxious much?" I heard James say from the other side before the door swung open, nearly sending me to the floor in its swiftness.

"Did you not see the car yesterday?" I asked him after I had steadied myself. He'd exchanged his pajama bottoms for a pair of light-colored shorts and a green tee that made the gold in his eyes stand out. "We have a lot of work to do."

A minute later, we were both staring at the vehicle in my driveway, unaware of how to start. "How does this thing even run?" James asked, taking in the dragging exhaust pipe and dented hood. At some point, the paint had actually been blue—that point must have been centuries ago.

"It makes magical carpets look fashionable," I commented, swiping my hair from my face as I bent down to turn on the faucet for the garden hose.

"But weren't they outlawed years ago?" James asked.

"Exactly."

He chuckled as he continued to appraise the car with a worried look while I grabbed a bucket and filled it with soap and water. Deciding that the rising bubbles was more fascinating to watch, James ambled over to my side. "Where does the water come from?" he asked.

I laughed. "The same place the showers at Hogwarts get their water."

"Magic?" he questioned astounded.

Huh. Well, I'd never actually thought about that. Did water pipes run through the castle? Or was it simply magic that made the water flow from the faucets?

I decided not to answer. It would only confuse the both of us, and we'd probably forget all about the task at hand and spend hours debating the possibilities.

"This," I said instead, holding up the green snakelike contraption, "is a hose. We use it to wet the car," I explained.

He jumped when I squirted some water out at his feet, drenching his trainers. "Let me try," he said, already grabbing for the hose. With a smirk that showed he obviously knew what he was doing and the consequences that would occur, he pulled the trigger.

I spluttered as water soaked the top of my shirt and splashed into my mouth and up my face. Blindly, I stumbled towards him and took it back from him, nearly tripping over his leg in the process. "Prat," I informed him as he just smiled innocently. "Let's use it on the _car_."

After I handed him a sponge and explained its purpose—"Lily, wizards have these; how do you think we _clean?_"—and proved myself to be a naïve idiot, we set to work. For a few seconds, it was silent, because this was pretty strenuous work, and I for one needed every breath to scrub the grime off the now-brownish paint color. So, instead, I spoke to myself. Well, that sounded odd. I thought about what he'd said about magical water and Muggle sponges, and realized how little I actually knew about him. My scant knowledge was surprising, seeing as I'd lived with him for years.

"Hey," I announced, speaking to him from opposite sides of the car, "let's play twenty questions."

"A quiz is hardly a game," he answered.

I sprayed him with the hose from underneath the car. "Look, since you're my boyfriend now, I think I need to know certain things about you, incase my dad asks me your parents' names."

He chuckled. "Maria and Jedidiah."

"What?"

"My parents' names," he clarified. I thought over those names, they seemed quite exotic, and I wondered if his mum was Italian; if so, that would explain his slightly darker skin tone. "So, I suppose it's my turn then."

"That wasn't my question," I objected.

"Too late; I already answered."

I sprayed him again.

"Alright," he announced as he shook his head like a wet dog, "why did you pick Oxford?"

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "That's your first question?" Honestly, what a waste. How was that going to get us anywhere? That wasn't going to tell him _anything _about me.

"Well, I already know _your _parents' names."

He was working on the boot of the car now, and he leaned around it to throw a smirk my way.

I thought about it. To be honest, I don't really know where Oxford had come from. I thought harder, curious now. Maybe it was just because it was so prestigious, exclusive, kind of how I viewed Hogwarts. And, for some reason, most people up north viewed it as a university for the wealthy, and it was obvious that the Potters, a long-standing pureblood family, came from money. "I think," I began, "well, I can _see _you at Oxford."

Biting my lip and wondering what he would take away from that, I watched him nod his head seriously, though when he looked at me his eyes were sparkling. "I knew you thought I was smart."

Despite myself, I laughed. "Not quite up to my level, though. Didn't you get an E on your Charms O.W.L.?" I jibed.

"My examiner hated me from the start," he objected, though he laughed.

"Didn't you accidently drop the levitating goblet on his head?" I continued, grinning now.

He waved his hand absentmindedly. "Details, details." He paused. "And does that count as your second question?"

And so we continued. I learned a fair few things about James Potter. I questioned him mostly about his family, learning that his parents had had him late in their life, a miracle baby—at which point I'd snorted lightly—and that they had been Aurors but were now retired (a career path that James wanted to pursue), donating their money to the law enforcement to help catch You-Know-Who in whichever way they could. I made a mental note to say that James Rotter studied law at Oxford, the closest Muggle equivalent I could find to being a dark wizard catcher.

"So," James began as we sat cross-legged across from each other, the car all but forgotten, "what do you want to do after we graduate?"

"Ugh," I stated, leaning back on my hands and staring at the sky. I really couldn't stand that question, because the future was always something that had been hazy for me. For a girl who liked to live in the present, the future was a scary, distant time on a faraway calendar. Needless to say, my job appointment with McGonagall in fifth year had been stressful for both of us, because she had told me that I had great potential to do _anything_ when what I had really needed her to do was narrow down my potential and make a decision for me.

Not to mention that I felt like I still looked to be around fourteen years old, so how was I meant to fit in with all of the qualified, professional wizards of the magical world?

"I dunno," I answered truthfully. "I—all I know is I want to do something, contribute some goodness." I chewed on my tongue, lost in thought. James waited. "With my classes, I could be an Auror, but I can't see myself attacking, _killing…"_

James leaned towards me. "Aurors are trained _not _to kill," he said.

I grinned slightly. "Dead men tell no tales?"

"Why do you think we have a wizard prison?"

I leaned back again. "To put rascals like you away."

But despite my jokes, I considered what he'd had to say. I felt strongly about justice, especially about equality amongst different blood status magical folk. With all of my heart, I wanted You-Know-Who to be stopped, but me physically stopping him? I mean, I could hardly run a mile without passing out; stamina wasn't a strong point. And what if I did kill, even on accident? Would it be worth it? If it stopped him?

And what about my family? Putting them on pins and needles every time I went on a mission, every time I got called to visit another Dark Marked scene. That was enough to send poor father into a heart attack. And surely, they would be put into even more danger than they already were; I mean, Muggles _and_ a relative of a Muggle-born Auror? I might as well just sign away their lives right now.

You're welcome, Mum, Dad. You've done so much for me, and this is how I've chosen to repay you. Have a nice life in your coffins.

"Can I ask another one?" James asked and I looked up at him, inviting him to continue, too lost in thought to answer verbally. "Why don't you use magic here now that you're of age?"

"What do you mean?"

He pulled his wand from his waistband like earlier this morning. "Like this, for example," he said, motioning towards the hose that was lying on the ground between us as if it were practically medieval. "It would be much easier if you did this."

Water poured from the tip of his wand onto the ancient vehicle, washing away the soap suds that we'd abandoned there. With another flick of his wand, the near side of the car was practically sparkling. It almost made our mod-mobile—which, once the doors decided to no longer stay attached to the rest of the body, would surely look like a cheap scooter—look ten years younger. Which would put its age to the 1900's now.

He prodded me with the end of his wand, pushing me to answer. "I just…don't think about it."

"But you're a witch."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, so _that's _what's wrong with me?" When he didn't response, I supposed sarcasm wasn't going to placate him. "I know you must think that Petunia hates magic, but really, she's just jealous."

And I understood why. I couldn't blame her. If the roles had been reversed, I knew that I would have resented the fact that I didn't have the same special gene that she had. But I liked to think that I wouldn't have cast her out of my life. So, if _not _doing magic at home would help, even the tiniest of bits, I would do it. Because she was my sister, after all.

"Can I ask just one more?"

"Greedy, aren't you?" I joked.

He ignored me, leaning forwards, elbows on his knees as his eyes never left my face. "If you had the chance to go back and choose differently, would you still choose to go to Hogwarts?"

As I stared at him, I was a bit surprised by how intensely he was watching me, as if he truly wanted to know my inner thoughts, how I worked. Good luck, Potter; it had taken me seventeen years to figure myself out. It was a far cry from his first query that had been all about himself, the conceited loser. And then I thought about his question, something that I'd never really weighed before. Surprisingly, it only took me a second to decide. "Yes," I replied, "I would still go." Instantly, I felt wretched. Was it so wrong of me to choose my school over my own sister?

I wasn't so sure anymore.

"I admire you for that, you know," James said; I could only stare at him. It shocked me so badly that my hand slipped from its place on the pavement. The tip of the hose gouged into my hand, and I whimpered slightly when I saw the blood there. Without even seeming to think about it, he took my hand and waved his wand. The cut was gone. And during the whole exchange, he had continued to watch me earnestly not once glancing at my hand.

"Why?" I asked lowly.

"Well," he began, "sometimes, in order to become who you were meant to be, you have to go against the ones you love."

I found myself staring at him, my mouth probably hanging open like a confused fish after it had run into the side of the fishbowl. So many thoughts were running through my head, it was making me dizzy just trying to sort through them all. James Potter thought I belonged in the magical world? For some reason, that bolstered my confidence—I told myself it was because a pureblood like him approved of me, a Muggle-born. But, I'd never sought out approval before. I shook my head. I was _meant _to be a witch? Suddenly, everything began to make sense, because if being a witch _was _my future, then something as trivial as being called a freak by Tuney no longer outweighed my destiny. When words such as 'destiny' were thrown into a situation, it tended to reorganize a person's priorities.

I blinked a few times. "Who are you, and what have you done with the real Potter?" I questioned.

His eyes were twinkling again. "I'm rubbish at Potions; you actually think I could make Polyjuice potion _without_ screwing it up?"

"James Potter couldn't, but for all I know, you could be Slughorn."

He pretended to grimace. "Well, Old Sluggy does love you enough to pose as your boyfriend."

And then, just like that, without any need for thank you's and your welcome' s and any other boring pleasantries that would be exchanged after an emotional conversation that helped reset my fate, we were laughing together, the seriousness of our conversation forgotten. As I cleaned the opposite side of the Volvo with a flick of my wand, we continued to question one another, but the hefty subjects had already passed, so we moved on to simpler things, like favorite colors and the strangest dreams we'd ever had.

Our twenty questions had probably turned into forty.

In sync now, we both pocketed our wands when a car pulled into the driveway about an hour later. "James," my mum breathed the second she'd stepped out of Mrs. Dursley's German-made beauty. She and Petunia stared at the improved hunk of metal and wheels as if an elephant wearing a tutu had just apparated in front of them. "You're a miracle worker," she continued, approaching the car and actually running a finger along the side.

Tuney glanced at us. "It's no BMW, but it will do."

Well, that was as good as a hug from her.

"How'd you do it?" My mum inquired, now opening the door and getting into the driver's seat as if it was a new vehicle that she was test driving.

James turned towards me with a look as if we were sharing a secret. "Magic."

Petunia scoffed. "You two _were_ made for each other," she commented sardonically, before she stomped off back into the house.

I stepped on his foot, but smiled all the same. It was funny how I seemed able to feel like punching him in the face and laughing _with _him at the same time.

Almost as soon as she'd disappeared, the front door cracked open once more. "We leave in an hour," my sister called from the doorway.

My heart dropped instantly.

As I watched my mother begging James to reveal his automobile secret, I instantly became grateful that James and I had gotten all of our seriousness out of the way, because Merlin knew we would need all the humor we could get for Tuney's dance lesson.

OO

James and I sat together in the back seat of the Volvo, jostling around with the smallest of bumps the wheels found in the pavement, holding onto to the door handle for dear life. Yeah, the new exterior did little to disguise the worthless heap the engine still was. Boyfriend prodigy seemed to be rather enjoying himself, and I could only imagine how much fun he was having comparing this way of travel to a broomstick. Meanwhile, I sulked at my feet, looking at the strappy, healed deathtraps that had been placed there. Seriously, how was I meant to dance in these when I couldn't even shimmy to begin with? Not to mention that, if it hadn't been for James's great—and occasionally obnoxious—Quidditch reflexes, I would probably be nursing a broken nose at this moment in the hospital after the two inch stilt had slipped in between the cracks in our driveway.

This whole dance experience just kept getting better and better.

First a boyfriend, now a guaranteed sprained ankle.

Petunia was prattling to my mum in the front seat (Dad was probably throwing a party back at home; he was the only fortunate one in the family) about how lucky it had been that she'd been able to book Claudia Smirnov to choreograph the dance, because, apparently, she was in high demand these days. I thought it would have been far luckier if _lovely_ Claudia had received a bad case of the stomach flu that would have made her incapable of movement for months.

My temper was worsening by the millisecond.

"If I fracture my foot, I'll never forgive you for this," I complained, rubbing a hand in between the straps of the stilettos.

Tuney glanced at me through the rearview mirror, pulling her features upwards into an extremely irritated expression. "Imagine how much stress it would put _me _under," she said crossly. "I'd have to find new dresses just to cover the casting."

Yes, that would be just so disastrous, wouldn't it? And why was she looking at such short bridesmaid's dresses? Weddings were meant to be formal, family affairs, not hoochie club parties. Okay, so they weren't _that _short; I was just in the mood to find anything to complain about.

"Girls," Mum interrupted, effectively silencing us both.

As Petunia continued her previous conversation as if nothing had happened, James sidled over as I humphed loudly and stared at the window, thinking about how lucky that homeless bloke sitting on the side of the street was. "Are dances usually customary for—" He lowered his voice—"Muggle weddings?"

"Hardly," I answered, arms crossed. "It's just an excuse for my sister to show off yet another thing she's good at."

Since I'd inherited the witch gene, I guess it was only fair that Petunia had been granted with the gracefulness of a phoenix. Though, that was not how I'd always thought of the situation—I'd been made fun of during our childhood ballet lessons; Tuney had been idolized. Really. I was positive the teacher had actually cried when Petunia had moved up to the next class, or perhaps she'd broken down into hysterics because that was the same year I moved up.

That was also the year Mum pulled me out, thank Godric.

"What kind of dancing is it?" James continued, and I had a feeling he was trying to distract me from my down-spiraling of good humor. Nice of him really, but even if he were dressed up in a fake beard and spoke with the quirkiness of our headmaster—well, maybe then I would crack a smile.

And take a picture, for blackmail.

I shrugged.

When we pulled up and parked, Vernon was waiting on the front steps that led up to the small studio, looking all sorts of important as he stood smack dab in the middle of the entranceway, making the other's skirt around him. He wasn't leaving much room. I stuck my hands into my pockets as soon as I exited the car, keeping them away from James's grasp, because I just wasn't sure if I could tolerate that just now. My nerves were already frizzled enough at the moment. As we approached, James waved to Dursley as if they were the best of chums; Vernon took one look, grunted, took my sister by the arm and led her through the doors before any of us could say a word.

He obviously was still sore over the whole Cambridge thing.

"Such a nice man," James commented lightly.

Even my mum laughed.

Heck, I broke into a small grin.

Until we walked into the studio.

Automatically the sight put me on edge as I took in the walls of mirrors, the plié _barre_, the wooden floorboards that creaked slightly underneath the weight. I felt like I was about six years old again, knowing that the next hour was going to induce a lot of mocking giggles and hushed whispers behind my back. Not to mention strained muscles and broken noses.

Lovely.

I began to fuss with the bottom of my shirt.

James laughed. "Relax, Lily."

I refused to be swayed into a good mood. "Easy for you to say, 'beat with the feet'," I muttered, right before I tripped over my own two feet and had to steady myself on his arm.

"So," a high-pitched voice called out that reminded me of the sound McGonagall's nails made on a blackboard, "the other Evans daughter does live."

Oh, Godric. Being around all of these Muggles was going to send me into a panic attack. I hoped St. Mungo's had comfortable beds and decent food.

James automatically reached out and took my hand as a black haired girl in a swishy gold dress stopped in front of us.

The _other_? How nice.

I immediately felt underdressed.

"Erm—Hey, Kate," I greeted, desperately hoping that was her name and not one of the other identical friends Petunia seemed to keep. I didn't see much of Petunia's acquaintances on my school holidays. This was going to be one of the first times we'd all be reunited again, a reunion that was sure to be worse than our family ones. Before receiving my letter from Hogwarts, my sister's friends had come over quite often and—believe or not—I'd even been included, but as soon as I'd committed the lowest of lows—aka: accepting Dumbledore's invitation—Tuney had decided to go out more often rather than staying in.

It was as if she'd thought freak was contagious.

"Who's this?" Kate asked, her deep brown eyes surveying James in a rather disturbing way. I moved closer in response. James was already screwed up enough without her slime oozing onto him. Huh, maybe freak _was _catchable.

"James," he introduced, holding out his unoccupied hand as I was clutching to his other, "Lily's boyfriend."

I shivered.

"Oh," she said, suddenly uninterested, as if he'd just fallen below some high qualification mark that neither of us had known she'd set. "Did you two meet in her remedial courses, then?"

Remedial courses?

"_What?"_ I spluttered out.

It made me wonder what other lies my darling sister had been spreading to all of her friends. I glared at Petunia's back before turning back to fix Kate with a wry smile. "Yes, well, I suppose I would have to be quite stupid to date this one."

James turned his laugh into a cough as I dragged him away from a now-confused Kate, my chest heaving. I shouldn't have been so surprised though, not after she'd told her first boyfriend that I attended a school for aspiring clowns. All things considered, remedial classes were quite nice of my sister. I should reward her with a cockroach cluster later.

Hehe.

"Remedial subjects, eh?" James asked, positively grinning wildly as I pulled us as far away from the gathering mass of normality and various human-shaped walruses. "That does explain all the extra time you spend studying."

I smacked him in the chest. "Shut up."

He reached up to rub the spot I'd just hit. "Merlin," he grumbled. Apparently, I underestimated my own strength. As he spread his arms out, as if stretching, that was when I saw the dark brown wooden stick protruding from underneath his button-down shirt. Hissing slightly, I pulled him closer, glancing around to make sure no one was around. "You brought your _wand?"_

"Didn't you?" he asked.

"This is a Muggle dance studio," I pointed out, gesturing to the group of people now gathered around my sister and her pet elephant—I meant fiancé—awaiting to catch the first glimpse of Claudia, "not our Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

He was smirking self-righteously. "First rule to being an Auror—dangers hide anywhere."

Rolling my eyes, I held my hand out, wiggling my fingers underneath his face. Kate was meandering back over to us—apparently remedial lessons didn't outshine his attractiveness—so I moved slightly to shield our conversation with my back. Hopefully, she'd take the hint. Otherwise, I supposed I could always have James perform his miracle-working Confundus Charm.

Oh, no. He was rubbing off on me.

"Give it to me."

He whacked my hand away from his waist, placing his arm across his body. "But Lily! Without my wand I'm like—" he paused as if he was trying to find a horrifying enough example—"Vernon Dursley," he gasped.

Well, I _had_ taught him well. "At least you're better looking," I amended without thinking.

"You think I'm attractive?" His smirk was far too hideous. Note to self: never grant even a backwards compliment to James Potter.

I punched him in the arm and grinned, satisfied, when he rubbed the spot when he thought I wasn't looking. Ha, I was pretty sure I'd just found myself a defensive weapon. "Don't let it go to your head," I retorted, "A brick is more handsome than Dursley."

"Aw, but out of those two, I am the handsomest."

Just from the sparkle in his eyes and his too innocent of an expression, I could tell he was trying to distract me. Well, I wasn't born yesterday, Potter. "Hand it over," I demanded.

"Your funeral," he commented, placing the object in question into the palm of my hand, watching it as if he'd just handed Sirius Black, his best mate slash partner in crime, over to the Dementors.

I paused, watching him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he started thoughtfully, "how am I supposed to make us look good _without_ my wand?"

My eyes narrowed, and my heart rate shot up about fifty RPMs. He was telling me this _now? _Here? On the dance floor where soon I would be depending on his feet to balance my clown stilts. The prat. He really was the author of the idiot's guide for wizards. "You told my family you were a great dancer!"

His stare matched mine, and if he was a girl, I was almost positive his hands would be on his hips. "I'm also, apparently, a Muggle."

He was just never going to let that go, was he?

"Lily," he began again, "we're already the most dysfunctional couple in the history of romance—" That was true—"so, we might as well do it right."

I looked over at my sister who, no doubt, was expecting the Oxford student to waltz out under the spotlight with his new dance shoes squeaking. Too be honest, I'd been looking forward to seeing her shocked expression at his amazing skills, because I'd been banking on him to make me look good as well. Not that I'd intended him to be a fabulous dancer when I'd stupidly marked him as my partner, but it had been an added bonus.

Now he was just a wizard without a wand.

And no dancing shoes.

Taking one last look to make sure there were no prying eyes—and knowing my mum, she was probably analyzing our every move—I quickly pocketed his wand, hiding it underneath my lacy shirt. "Let's destroy this thing, then," I concluded. And I meant 'destroy' in the most literal way, because Merlin knew how many bruises I'd casted onto, not only myself, but my fellow dancers back in my heyday. Not to mention the dents in the floorboard when I'd fallen.

My fears weren't only confirmed, but heightened to an alarming degree.

Thanks, Claudia.

Because the routine the Russian instructor who must have been distantly related to You-Know-Who himself was the most complicated arrangement of poetic subtly and sensuality that I had ever witnessed. Praise Godric Gryffindor's sword that tonight was just a viewing and no actual practice was involved, because I would probably need weeks to prepare myself for this, let alone a day. The way her hips moved against her partner's as if she were trying to swat away a sexy fly with them, the twisting spins that left me breathless just watching, and Merlin, the rigid, powerful hold that showed the passion, the trust between the two lovers. Because, this was clearly what the dance was about. Being in love.

It was beautiful, as long as I didn't paint myself into the picture.

But Petunia had already taken on the character of da Vinci.

Holy hippogriff.

Puking seemed like a reasonable response when I realized that people would have to watch Tuney (who could, unfortunately, pull this off) and Vernon (who would most likely pass out from the stamina of it all) perform this honest—almost to the point of being embarrassing to watch—performance.

Wait.

Worse.

I was going to have to move my hips against James Potter's like _that_?

* * *

_He. Hehe. Haha. _

_Oh, Lily. You know you like it. For all of you who were disappointed that you didn't get to see Lily and James actually dance together in this chapter (like I was), never fear! There are plenty of opportunities for them to show off their mad skills later on. I hope this chapter amused you. The next one should be up, if all things go as planned, next week. If things don't go as I have planned them (for instance, if there's some freak storm that fries my computer, or something) then the next chapter will probably be up in two weeks. _

_In the mean time, enjoy life, and help me enjoy mine that much more by leaving a review!_

_Thanks for reading!_

_Hoping that I can get the next chapter up by next Monday,_

_-HeyLookTheSnitch_

_PS-Oh, and I was a bit bothered at first about how easily Lily seemed to be able to get used to calling James James instead of Potter. But then I figured, well, it is his name. I mean, there have been people before that I've called them something different, and all it's taken is one time to call them by their real name, and then it's stuck. Kind of like a bad nickname, if you will. And I hope I'm making sense, otherwise the time I spent explaining this was completely wasted. I could be sleeping. _

_:)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** _Even after 3 years of copyright battles (which is why I've been MIA for so long), Harry Potter still is not mine. All of that money spent on a lawyer for nothing..._

__**A/N: **_I'm not even sure if people still read fanfiction anymore...do they? I've been absent for so long. Too long. Sorry about that. But I DID write another chapter for this story, and I decided to post it here in case anyone is still interested. Because, I mean, what am I going to do with it? Stare at it on a Word doc on my computer? This chapter's not as long as the others, but you get you're good old James/Lily interactions, some Sirius Black awesomeness, and general hilarity. Hope you enjoy it (if anyone is still here...)_

_Recap: Chapter 4 ended with Lily and James at a dance studio watching the dance instructor perform Petunia's upcoming wedding routine that they will have to perform in. Lily, who thought James could dance rather well, was quite upset when it came out that James actually didn't know how to dance at all. That's the most important bits. There was some general character growth and relationship development, but those are minor details... haha_

* * *

**Chapter 5: ****My Two Failures in Life—1) Being a Girl 2) and, Thus, Being Attracted to James Potter  
**

There was no one else in the studio except for us. The sparkling mirrors that adorned the entirety of the walls depicted back at us our reflection: a boy and a girl. An attractive couple, the girl dressed in a glittering green dress that just brushed her mid thigh—it spun out in all directions when he twirled her, little dots of color exploding across the floor. The boy's white cotton shirt was gaping open, exposing his smooth, toned chest that the girls' hand was currently resting on.

Something about them seemed eerily familiar.

"I would say we make an excellent team," James stated as his hands rolled my hips in time with the lively music that sounded oddly like Spanish guitars intermixed with the voice of Paul McCartney rising and falling in the background.

It was all quite pleasant.

His hazel eyes lit up as I—in a way the made me feel sexily powerful—trailed my fingers across his chest, over his crisp shirt, down his shoulder and along his back muscles as my feet accomplished some complicated footwork, carrying me in a circle around him, only to end up back into his arms.

Huh. Who knew I could dance?

Well, James Potter did seem to always bring out the worst in me.

"Team, Potter?" I questioned cheekily. "I'm the one making us look good."

Smirking in a way that left me wonderfully breathless, he jerked me towards him so quickly that I gasped as my chest pressed up against his. Skin on skin (since both of our tops were far too low cut for a tea at Grandma Tulia's), our heartbeats joining in synchronization with one another. I was breathing hard as his lip brushed my ear, sending a tingling sensation throughout my body. My eyes fluttered closed instinctually as his words fluttered against my hair, as if the smallest of summer breezes mingled around us.

"I'm not one to be outdone, Evans," he murmured, his hot breath so close to my neck that I shivered pleasantly and gripped his shoulders tightly, feeling his muscles contracting as he bent, placing his sinful mouth on my neck.

Something must be wrong with me, because I didn't tell him to bugger off. Instead, I flipped my hair out of the way to give him better access.

We had stopped dancing.

"James," I gasped, his hands inching down my back slowly, teasingly, passing from the fabric of my dress to my bare skin as if he were looking for a key that would unlock some forbidden door; it was so hard to concentrate with his warm hands and his amazing mouth on my body. "We're supposed to be practicing."

When my eyes opened they met his, and they were twinkling in that maddening way of his whenever he knew he was about to get what he wanted. Like winning the Quidditch cup, for example, or charming his way out of a detention, or…

Making out with me?

The arrogant, sexy berk.

The tips of his mouth quipped upwards into a lopsided grin. "Think of this," he began as he pulled me closer, if that were at all possible, "as my own personal lesson for you." And before I could respond, he brushed his lips against mine.

"And what would that be?" I asked a little breathlessly against his deliciously warm mouth. "How to be a sleaze 101?" I was grateful that I still maintained my wit, even if I wanted to rip off his shirt at the moment and explore his abdomen.

He shook his head, his messy hair bouncing on top of his head. "A lesson in how to get what you _know_ you want."

My mind reeled even as he swooped down and captured my words with a kiss that would even have made Professor McGonagall moan with pleasure. On my tip toes now with one hand still gripping his shoulder and the other one slipping underneath his shirt, the kiss turned from something innocent into a full-on snog as if we were a couple in love on the streets of Barcelona, locking lips as if the world was going to end at any second. Our bodies were completely entangled, the short hem of my dress riding up in a completely inappropriate way as his rough palm ran up my bare leg.

I couldn't stop. I didn't _want _to stop. I—

_Bang! _

With a start, my eyes flew open and I snapped up in my bed, breathing hard, peering around for the source of the explosion that had so rudely woken me up. Actually, thank Merlin it had woken me up, because that dream had been disturbingly pleasant, and I had hated every second of it.

Every second.

Every one.

Cold sweat plastered my hair to the back of my neck as I peered into the darkness. Sometimes, when I was younger, I would wake up from a nightmare and lay as still as possible, as if the frightening dream would realize that there was no one to pester and dissipate from the air in defeat. So, that's what I did now. Because there was definitely an ominous _something_ in my room. The floor creaked slightly about two feet away, and I blinked silently, willing my eyes to adjust. A shadowed shape loomed near my dresser, unmoving now, as if it had sensed the _blink, blink, blink _of my eyelids. Heart pounding, hands sweating, I reached under my pillow, gripped my wand, and was about to stun the fool when—

"Going to attack an unarmed man, Evans?"

"_James_?!" I hissed, automatically pulling my sheets up to my chin. "What are you _doing_ in here?"

Holy crap, I hoped I hadn't said anything in my sleep.

Wait. Was I still dreaming? Damn it, Potter, get out of my head!

"Morning, Lily," he replied nonchalantly as if he found himself in my personal room all the time.

Which, for the record, he didn't.

Since I was much too annoyed with him at the moment, I knew that this couldn't be a dream, and that James-Freaking-Potter-The-Rotter was actually in my bedroom. Bloody-Rotting-Hell was in my bedroom at four in the morning, I wasn't wearing a bra, and I had been dreaming about unmentionable contact between my body and his.

Lovely.

Blast it all to Azkaban.

"_What_," I emphasized again with a slightly shaking snarl, "are you doing in here?"

He shuffled awkwardly like he was afraid of what his feet would come into contact with if he moved too suddenly, seeing as even the sun was still asleep and thus no light permeated the corners of the small room. I heard his toe run into the leg of my wardrobe. "Ouch," he exclaimed under his breath, "that hurt."

I crossed my arms, and then realized that my sheets had slipped down to my waist, so I yanked them back up again, holding them firmly in place. "Good," I replied.

"Not a morning person, I see?" he stated at my grumpy tone.

"Actually, I'm quite keen on mornings as long as there's orange juice, pancakes, and no rotting stench waking me up!"

"Rotting stench?"

"Yes. That's you. Rotten. Rotting from the inside out."

My eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, and I focused in on the teenage boy that was hovering in between my bed and dresser. His hands were out, as if he were a blind man trying to navigate his way through a maze as he smirked over at me.

"See? This was why I wasn't going to wake you."

"Then maybe you should have stayed in your _own _bed," I pointed out in a huff.

"Now, what fun would that have been?"

His arms out in front of him like an incredibly clumsy zombie who had just lost a limb, he began to step towards me, and my heart raced unexplainably. I pressed a firm hand to my chest, pressing against each rapid thump as it came as if I could smother it. "What are you doing?" I hissed again.

He stumbled over one of my discarded shoes. "I left my glasses in my room. I can't see a bloody centimeter."

Despite everything, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Indeed, his glasses weren't in their typical place perched across the bridge of his nose. He looked more boyish without them. "No, you wanker," I emphasized. "Why are you in my—" I paused, seeing my school trunk at the foot of my bed that was heading for a crash course collision with James' meandering body. "James, no, _look out_—"

With a muttered obscenity, his toe caught on the edge of it with a bang that surely should have woken my entire neighborhood if I hadn't quickly casted the infamous _muffliato_ charm. A shout, a few choice words, and a flump later, he was sprawled across the end of my bed. I gasped and pulled my legs up to my chest, suddenly very aware of his presence. The memory of his hands on me, the warmth, the _passion—_I shivered. "Get off," I snapped as I reached for his shoulder to shove him.

When he looked up at me, his black hair even more tousled than usual, he was grinning, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "I always imagined the scenarios of how I would end up in your bed," he stated simply. "Surprisingly, this wasn't one of them." My bed springs creaked as he hoisted himself into a sitting position so that he was facing me, his long legs crossed underneath him, bemused. "I suppose, however, that I'll take whatever I can get."

Heat flashed across the back of my neck, and I prayed to Merlin that no one in my family would walk in on this. We were supposed to be taking things slowly! "Your sarcasm is not appreciated at this early of an hour," I told him, keeping both eyes trained on him wearily as he threw a naughty smirk my way that sent my blood on a white water rafting chase. "Besides, you shouldn't be in here." I tried pulling my blankets up to my neck, but with Potter's added weight, they wouldn't budge. I settled with hastily crossing my arms.

"Isn't this what any boyfriend would do? Sneak into his girl's room after hours." He was positively grinning now.

My stomach seemed to jump. "One problem with your logic, Potter," I stated.

"And what would that be, Evans?"

"I'm not your girlfriend," I finished before I finally risked the bodily contact and kicked him off my bed. Chuckling to himself, he rolled off the edge gingerly, springing to his feet and coming to rest beside me. The way the sparks of gold in his eyes glinted in the dark seemed to suck the moisture from my mouth.

Sometimes, I really couldn't stand to look at James Potter.

"Your family will be so heartbroken to hear about our breakup," he countered.

I rolled my eyes. "Get out."

"Not without my wand," he replied

It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about. Only half a moment more for the memories from two nights before to replay themselves in my head. Memories of horrifying dips and turns, of muggle bridesmaids who panted after James Rotter like he was a piece of grilled rib-eye steak, of Rotter himself. Stupid charming tosser with a wand under his shirt. In a distinctly _muggle _dance hall. Where he was meant to be a muggle.

What an idiot. "I have it," I admitted confidently, "for safe-keeping."

He sighed heavily. "Right," he began "because that isn't demeaning at all. It's not like I'm an adult wizard or anything..."

I appraised him. "Because you're acting so mature right now?" He sighed once again, his shoulder even rising in the process. "Besides," I began again, "you're my non-wizard date. Your license to a wand has been revoked."

It was silent for a brief moment as we stared at each other. He muttered something that sounded very much like, "Who do you think you are? The bleeding Wizengamot?" And then all was still—like the calm before a very scary storm of teenage hormones—as he cocked his head to the side and threw a smirk my way that made me forever regret that I'd ever even touched his wand. It was a look that made it very clear that he was good at playing games too.

I didn't want to see that look on his face, that look that was causing hot tingles to erupt across my skin, down my stomach, to my toes, so I closed my eyes tightly. Which made it all worse, actually, because now I could feel him, the way his body seemed to be hovering just above mine, some invisible force acting as a delicate barrier.

My eyes opened.

He was leaning forward, onto the balls of his feet, bending over me so that his eyes were level with my own. "Fine, Lily," he amended, his warm breathing hitting the tip of my nose as I tried to mash my head as far as it could go into my pillow.

Craptastic.

"As your muggle boyfriend, kiss me."

_Oh, Merlin_.

I had to still be dreaming. My brain felt all fuzzy and there was a sickeningly annoying buzzing sound, a thousand hornets rubbing against my brain. I tried to shake my head, but it felt like someone had dumped a pile of bricks into it. Suddenly, the image from my dream assaulted my brain, and I irrationally wanted to tear my head apart, brain cell by brain cell, just to punish my body for wanting it, for wanting _him_.

"W-what?" I stammered, pulling my sheets back up past my chin to right underneath my eyelids.

His hands landed on either side of my body, and suddenly I was much too hot. These sheets were stifling! My legs twitched to kick them off, but I couldn't move. "So, what will it be, Lily?" he all but purred. "My wand or my lips?"

_Do not look at his mouth. Do not look at his mouth. Don't even look at his face._

Even though it was dangerous, I chanced a look at him. His eyes bright in his face, a pinpoint of mockery light, the slope of his nose that dipped off to the bow of his mouth. His mouth that was tucked up into a devilish smirk of deceit and villainy. All it took was that one look to see what he was doing. What a complete tosser. The most obnoxious thing about James Potter was that he knew all of my buttons. He knew which ones to prod and press, to exploit to gather his own means. Over the years, he'd picked out all of my weaknesses, and for someone with such poor eyesight, he was excellent at observing people. And I had always been his favorite specimen.

He wanted his wand. And he knew how to get it.

If I were half as good as him, I would have turned his bloody mind game upside down. If I weren't so weary of my own sexuality around James Potter, I would have just kissed him to win this little game. The answer seemed so simple.

But, alas, I was not simple.

Trying to contain my hands from shaking, I reached underneath my pillow and pulled out the other wand besides my own. "I hate you," I muttered at him, as I shoved him and his wand away from me.

He patted my head fondly before I could swat his hand away. "You sleep with my wand; that's adorable."

"Leave."

He held up his hands in defeat, though he waved his wand tantalizingly which threw off his whole innocent façade. "Sleep well, my darling." As an added effect, he opened the door with a nifty silent incantation.

I waited until I heard my door click shut before I threw myself onto my stomach and muffled my scream into my mattress.

A few hours later, I finally gave up sleep as a lost cause. It was like my brain was intent on pestering me, like bloody Sirius Black was have a raving game of Quidditch in there, using my thoughts as bludgers in his inept hands. The only thing that had come out of this figurative mental match was one startling revelation:

I was a mess.

Why was I putting myself through this? I could just come clean, tell the family what was going on. My father would probably have a right laugh about it, my mum would still think Potter was the greatest thing to ever happen, and Tuney would just have another bit of ammo to forever point at my head. Maybe she'd even be grateful for another reason to hate me. But, deep down, I couldn't bring myself to do it, and it just wasn't for reasons of stubborn pride.

Two people were fighting within me, tearing my sanity apart. Part of myself—the Prefect side of myself who thought James Potter was an overrated twat—felt like strangling him with my bare hands for even daring to waltz into my summer life. The other part—the summer loving Lily—found itself feeling quite special that he had snuck into my room at all.

Mentally, I cursed that part of myself. It had only been a week since James had first showed up on my doorstep and already I was finding myself appreciating his company. He was actually sweet and funny, and I found myself actually enjoying our banters, and he had yet to magically pull down anyone's knickers, so all things considered—

Wait.

The bloke had a wand now.

Why had he wanted his wand? What could have been so desperate of a need that he had snuck into my bedroom in the middle of the night to hustle it out?

Just then, the house telephone from downstairs rang, and I about had a severe heart palpitation as if the shrill _brring, brring, brring _had been James's own magical siren: _Alert, alert! Wizard boy prankster on the loose last seen brandishing a wooden stick he calls "Check Mate."_ As I heard Petunia's voice buzzing through the floorboards, I shoved my arms into my dressing gown, chanced a glance at my reflection only to smooth down my bedhead, and then opened my door.

I didn't really have a justification as to why I had felt the need to fix my hair.

The hallway was empty. The loose floorboard right outside my doorway creaked, sending a wave of normalcy through my bones. Petunia's door was open a crack right across the hallway, as if daring me to go and snoop only so she could catch me and yell at me for it. It was all so mundane, that I nearly laughed.

Maybe I was being paranoid.

My head subconsciously titled towards the left as some annoying buzzing sound caught my ears' attention. What _was _that? It was that sound that you sometimes hear in your own head when things have been far too quiet for too long, and no matter what you do you can't shake the noise from your brain. And it was coming from James's room.

Oh, dear Merlin.

It was the _muffliato _jinx. Why did James Potter need to use a silencing spell?

Nothing good could come from this.

Glancing behind me once to make sure the rest of my family wasn't around to witness this possibly magical row, I walked over to the door. Irrationally, I admit, I placed my ear against the cool wood of his door, but of course I couldn't hear anything. Well, that had been a stupid idea. So, instead, I whipped my wand out of the pocket of my robe, and drew a square about the size of a small window into the wood. After muttering a quick incantation that I had learned from Chadna two years ago so that we could spy in on the boys' dormitory, I now had a good view into James's room through a one-way mirror that I had created in his door.

What if he was naked?

I shut my eyes instantly. I didn't want to see that.

Did I?

Godric, get a grip, Evans.

Cautiously, I peeled open my eyelids, looking into the scene through half closed fingers. I sighed heavily when I spotted him standing at the foot of his bed in a pair of black, polished dancing shoes in the arms of Sirius Black.

Well, at least he wasn't naked.

Wait.

"Black," I exclaimed as I pushed the door open, "hasn't anyone ever told you that breaking and entering is generally looked down upon in civilized society?" As soon as I had crossed over the threshold of the _muffliato _jinx, my voice rose until I was nearly shouting at him. And I had to shout to be heard over the loud sounds of Spanish guitars that were coming from a small radio on James's bedside table.

They were listening to Petunia's wedding song while prancing around in dance shoes. I had a moment of displacement, not quite sure what kind of parallel universe I had just waltzed into.

James jumped in surprise at my entrance, but Sirius merely grinned at me, his dark eyes glinting wildly as if he had anticipated this moment. If James Potter was the boy next door, then my parents would probably think Sirius Black was the boy next door who kicked the neighbor's cat simply because it meowed at him the wrong way. His smile was cheeky, his lazy gaze haughtily handsome, and his posture amusedly relaxed as he responded, "Has anyone ever told you that you're simply ravishing in the morning?"

I turned my accusatory glare to James. "You used your wand to summon your best mate into my house _without _my permission?"

"Don't pretend like you aren't happy to see me, Evans."

"Shove off, Black," I retorted, keeping my eyes on James as if I was his mother. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Um…Surprise?" he responded with a shrug and a growing smirk.

"I hate surprises," I combatted on principle even though that wasn't strictly true. Actually, I quite liked surprises and my dream had always been to have a surprise birthday party, but James the Rotter didn't need to know that. "Now, should I ask what's going on here, or should I just go straight downstairs and tell my parents that my boyfriend is gay?"

Sirius pulled James closer in the embrace I had caught them in, a casual arm around his shoulder as he ruffled James's unruly black hair. "Aw, so this dating story _is _true!"

James grinned at his friend. "When have I ever lied to you?" When Sirius and I just stared back at him in a mutual stance of incredulity, he huffed. "Fine, I admit, I don't have the best track record, but have a little faith!"

"So, Evans," Sirius began after giving James one last playful ruffle of his already messy hair, "you're dating my incredibly good-looking best mate, Prongs, yeah?"

I crossed my arms and shook my head. "I don't know about any Prongs, but, unfortunately, James Rotter is my boyfriend."

He emitted a short bout of laughter, throwing his head back so that his long, dark hair caught the overhead light. It was a shame Sirius was such a twit. "Rotter?" he mocked. "That's the best you could come up with?"

"I was under duress!"

"I would have gone with James Cockinbull," Sirius continued, crossing his arms casually.

In was undoubtable that he was challenging. A small smile threatened to overtake my expression despite everything. Sometimes, Sirius could be a right laugh. "James Mangina," I retorted.

"Or James Fauxbaals."

We both glanced at James innocently when he snorted loudly, pushing Sirius off of him. "I think it would be wise to reevaluate my relationship choices," he stated, trying to glare at each of us but failing when Sirius winked at him lewdly.

"That's not what you were saying earlier, handsome," Sirius joked.

Their bromance was adorable in a weird what-the-hell-are-they-both-doing-here type of way. Which reminded me: what the _hell_ was Sirius Black doing in my house? He must have seen my joking demeanor change, because he rolled his dark eyes and settled back against the metal footboard of James's bed as if he was preparing himself for a well-deserved telling off.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on here or not?" I began, grabbing the wand sticking out from James's front pocket even though I had my own tucked into my robe. My fingertips tingled with some sort of anticipation as they brushed against the rough material of his worn jeans. Well. It was too late to turn back now. With a quick swish of his wand, the radio was silenced. I tried to hide my mistake. "I mean, honestly. what did I ever do in my life to deserve waking up to two idiots waltzing around to a magically amplified radio?"

When James and Sirius shared a glance, I knew that they were about to two-time me with different scenarios they had seen me participate in that very well could have led Lady Justice to force me into this disturbing wakeup call. So, when Sirius held up his index finger as if he was about to start listing off a playlist of my infractions over the past six years he had known me, I waved him off. "Forget it. Don't answer that."

Sirius lowered his fingers with a smirk.

"But do tell me what's going on here before I call the Wizengamot into session."

"We're dancing," James answered automatically. He must have noticed the _No, shit, Sherlock _expression on my face, because he continued rather hastily. "Remember when I told your family that I was the 'beat with the feet?'"

"Unfortunately," I clipped at the same time Sirius snorted out, "You actually _said _that?"

James slapped his friend on the back of the head, but otherwise ignored him, his warm hazel eyes grinning at me. "Well, it's actually Sirius, here, who can dance remarkably well. I enlisted his help."

They had to be joking me. Was this life real? Had James used his commandeered wand to transport me to some parallel universe where Sirius Black apparently knew how to dance while I myself could barely walk across a ballet studio without tripping over my own two feet? I stared between them incredulously as Sirius stated simply with a shrug of his strong soldiers, "It's true. Even the Minister of Magic has commented on my sashays."

If I had already eaten breakfast, I would have snorted milk out of my nose as Sirius performed some complicated, sexy hip roll.

The worst part was that he looked fantastic doing it. What a wanker.

"So," I clarified, gripping the bridge of my nose as if I could feel some horrible migraine coming on, "you're teaching your best mate how to dance_ my sister's _wedding routine?"

"That about sums it up, yeah," James concluded. He gestured towards his wand that was still in my hand. "I even recorded it the other night and everything."

I tossed the wand back at him at his persistence, even though I irrationally wanted to hug it to my chest. "And what about me?"

Sirius quirked his head. "What about you?"

Actually, I wasn't even quite sure where I was going with this, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I'm a terrible dancer!"

The two boys shared a sly look that made me instantly regret my words. "See? I told you she would want in," Sirius commented. "Two galleons, please." He smirked widely as James swore under his breath, ruffled around in his pocket, and slapped what must have been the required betting money into Sirius's palm.

Wait. They had been taking bets? In _my_ house? About me? "What exactly do you think I want in on?"

Instead of answering, Sirius held his arms out wide as if he was thinking about embracing me; I instantly took a weary step backwards. "Sirius Black's School of Dance for Clumsy Witches is now open for business!"

Crap. I hadn't agreed to that. Had I? For the love of Merlin, I had to learn to think before I opened my mouth and allowed nonsense to spill forth into the air. After all, look at where I had gotten myself! In my childhood home with a pretend Oxford student boyfriend who was really a Hogwarts trouble-making seventh year with his best mate who was some dancing prodigy and self-proclaimed sex-god. Clearly, I wasn't doing so well for myself. I was just about to backtrack and tell Sirius that under no circumstances would I want a part in his demented dance school, when my mother's voice suddenly rang out from the bottom of the stairs.

"Lily, are you up yet? I made breakfast for you and James!"

The way she sang James's name made me want to cringe with embarrassment as a slight heat rushed up my neck. "Yeah, mum!" I answered back as normally as possible. After all, I couldn't let on to the fact that another teenage boy had just magically appeared in our house. How many boyfriends could I conjure up for myself in one summer?

I really shouldn't think things like that.

"We'll be right down!"

There was a pause, and I thought I was home free until— "Are you in _his _room?"

I couldn't tell if the implication in her voice was one of delight or of distress. Knowing my mum and her obsession with the Rotter, it was most likely the former. "I'm waking him up. Save me a croissant!"

After ten seconds went by without another word from her, although I could have sworn I heard her humming some joyful ditty to herself, I turned back to James and Sirius with my arms crossed. At least they had realized that their silence during that brief conversation with my mum would be appreciated. One point for them. Bravo. "I'll be right back," I warned the two prankster idiots. "James—" I looked towards him—"just don't blow anything up. And Sirius—" he just wiggled his fingers at me innocently—"make yourself scarce."

"Your mum says she has breakfast for me, though," James objected, already slipping off his dancing shoes and rubbing his flat stomach. "She's expecting me."

Some half-disgusted, half-resigned growl escaped from my throat, and without answering him I simply spun back towards his closed door, gesturing impatiently for him to follow.

"I'll just study the dance while you two are busy playing house," Sirius commented. "Because, you don't want Prongs upstaging you at your own sister's nuptials, do you, Evans?"

Blast them both to Wizard prison. I stomped my foot on the ground hard before spinning the doorknob and yanking James by the wrist as I marched from the room.

And that was how I enrolled myself in Sirius Black's School of Dance for Clumsy Witches.


End file.
